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vampsywrites · 2 years ago

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III — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, A LOT of romantic tension

Word Count: 4.5k | AO3 LINK

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In the early morning light, you took Neteyam to a secluded spot in the village, away from prying eyes. Aside from being Tsahìk, your expertise in climbing with ropes and harnesses was also well-known, and you had taken it upon yourself to teach him the ropes — quite literally.

As you began the lesson, your arms gently guided him, demonstrating the proper way to tie and secure the rope over his waist and thighs.

"Tuck this into here," you instructed, your voice soothing yet firm. "This must be tight to ensure safety. Watch."

Neteyam looked on, watching intently but his attention was elsewhere.

Instead of fully absorbing your instructions. his eyes remained fixated on every detail of your unique appearance. From the slope of your flat nose, the curve of your lips, and the thickness of your eyelashes that accentuated your big, milky eyes. Along with this was his strange fascination with your frosty blue skin, ample and adorned with delicate ivory specks.

"Are you listening?" you check.

"Yes," he affirmed but this was far from the truth.

In Neteyam's defense, he was listening, just not in the way you might have wanted. From the moment you met, you had been a woman of few words — reserved, and enigmatic. However, now, as you took on the role of his karyu, his teacher, Neteyam saw an opportunity to experience a different, more personal side of you. And so, he wanted to etch the sound of your voice into his memory, to savor every word that left your lips.

Your voice had a lilt that captivated him — calm yet firm, with a low and husky undertone that was enhanced by your distinct Iuva'rian accent. Every now and then, your words would subtly slip, and your village dialect would shine through, adding an intriguing layer of depth to your teaching.

The sound of you clearing your throat snapped him out of his deep thoughts, and the Omatikayan blinked blearily, shaking his head for a few seconds to refocus his attention. Dismissing his momentary distraction, you reached out and handed him the end of the rope.

"Attach the end of the rope to this tree," you instructed, pointing to a massive pine nearby. Neteyam moved to tie a secure anchor around the trunk, ensuring it would hold firm. You then took the other end of the rope and demonstrated how to loop it through his harness, which was fashioned from sturdy leather. To your relief, Neteyam paid proper attention this time and followed your instructions to the best of his ability.

"This harness will distribute your weight. Allowing you to use your hands and legs more freely," you explained, patting the leather. "It is your lifeline."

Stepping back, your eyes ran up and down his body, assessing everything. You noticed how he hadn't secured his harness properly, the rope left uncomfortably loose. With a huff of disapproval, you settled in front of him, your focused gaze fixed on his mistake. Your hands, soft yet purposeful, moved with practiced ease as you adjusted the harness, ensuring it was secure and would hold his weight properly.

As your fingers brushed against his lower abdomen and thighs, a surge of static energy seemed to pass between you, and a shiver ran up Neteyam's spine from the unexpected sensation. The closeness between you, the shared proximity, made his heart race, and he found himself mesmerized by every move you made.

Tilting your head up, you caught his gaze, and a lopsided frown appeared on your lips.

"You are looking at me with those eyes again," you chided.

"What eyes?" he murmured, still dazed and lost in his admiration of you.

"You must stop staring at me," you responded with a hint of a snarl, trying to bring his focus back to the lesson.

"Can't I stare at my future mate?" he grinned smugly, tail swinging by his feet languidly.

In response, you hissed and gave him a light slap on the side of his head. "Focus. Your form is bad. Fix it."

With an amused expression, Neteyam firmly gripped the side of the rock wall and adjusted his posture, heart set on impressing you and proving his worth.

"No," you tutted, stepping back to demonstrate the proper posture. You inhaled deeply, showcasing how to engage the core muscles and tighten the abdomen.

"Stronger," you instructed, tapping at your tensed stomach to emphasize the point.

He tried to emulate your actions, sucking in air and adjusting his form, but the task proved more arduous than he anticipated. Frustration flickered across your face, and Neteyam couldn't help but feel a pang of dissatisfaction, his ego taking a hit.

Again, you moved towards him, now pressing your front against his back. As your arms encircled him, a wave of searing heat surged through his body, leaving him breathless. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as your breath brushed against the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

Your hands, warm and gentle, traced the contours of his bare, muscled skin as you adjusted his arms and sides. The intimate touch sent his mind into a whirlwind of emotions, and he struggled to focus on anything other than the intoxicating proximity between you.

Finally, once his form was proper, you stepped away to view his posture, still unaware of the effect your touch had on him.

"Good," you hummed with approval. "Keep that form as we climb."

As you prepared him to start ascending, you placed a calming hand atop his chest, noticing how his heart pounded rapidly beneath your touch. Unaware of the true reason for his flustered state, you peered up at him, thinking he might be having second thoughts about the climb.

"You are scared?" you questioned, the slightest hint of concern in your voice.

"'M not scared," his words came out in a mumble as he tried to hide the truth. "Why would I be scared?"

Huffing softly, you made one last adjustment to his form, your hands gently pressing at his hard abdomen and slapping at any awkward limb placement, an effort to help him overcome whatever uncertainties he might be facing.

"Listen. As you climb, I'll stay below to control the rope. If you slip or lose your grip, I'll hold the rope tight to catch you," your small hands brushed up his jawline, turning his head to face you. "Trust me as I trust you."

"Got it," Neteyam nodded and began his climb. He moved upward, his hands trembling as he gripped the coarse surface of the rock, his fingers struggling to find solid handholds. Each time he tried to place his foot on a protruding edge, it slipped, sending small pebbles cascading down the cliff face.

He took a moment to assess the rock in front of him, his eyes scanning for the best path upward. After a few deep breaths to steady himself, he made a decision and reached out, testing a small crevice with his fingertips. It seemed secure enough, so he cautiously shifted his weight and pulled himself upward.

"Ngh!" Neteyam grunted, his biceps straining as he lifted himself higher up the rock wall. Despite his efforts, his initial progress was still awkward and uncoordinated. He swung his legs around, searching for footholds, but it seemed like every attempt led to more frustration. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his face burned with both exertion and embarrassment as he struggled to find his rhythm.

He had thought it would be easy, considering how he climbed trees all the time back home, but the mountains presented a whole new challenge. They lacked branches or sturdy trunks to cling onto; instead, they were rough, wide, and open, demanding an entirely different set of skills.

"You are like a baby! You think too much!" you scolded, picking up on his indecision and observing the rigid strain in his back muscles. "Find the holdings in the rock!"

"I am trying," Neteyam replied, voice tinged with frustration. The rough terrain scratched at his skin, his arms strained as he struggled to find the right grip, and the weight of each step felt heavier with every passing moment. "It is not as easy as you say it is!"

"Look for the natural holds, the cracks, and the crevices," you advised, drawing from your own experiences scaling these heights. "Use your instincts, and trust your body. The mountain will guide you."

Neteyam nodded, but his struggles persisted, and it was evident that he was stiff, overthinking each and every step. If he continued on like this, the risk of a fall was high.

"Mawey. Take a moment to rest," you urged firmly. He obliged and halted his movements.

With the climb momentarily paused, Neteyam caught his breath and tilted his head back to take in the breathtaking view before him. The sight punched a gasp out from his chest—the vast fields stretching out like a painted canvas, the lush forests below, carpeting the landscape in vibrant greens, and the riders gracefully soaring on their ikrans high above.

The soft caress of the gentle breeze kissed his cheeks, carrying along leaves and the scents of flora that adorned the mountain's slopes. As the wind brushed through his hair, Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the peace and tranquility that settled over him.

"Try again, Neteyam," you shouted up at him. "Let the rock guide you. Slow your pace and take your time; it's not a race."

Taking a deep breath, Neteyam attempted to ease his pace, allowing himself a moment to study the wall of stone before him. He faintly began to recognize the patterns and natural holds, the crevices, and folds that could be used to his advantage.

With newfound focus, he started to move more freely, trusting his instincts and allowing his body to flow with the terrain. His motions became less rigid, and he started to use the momentum of his body to propel himself upward, one confident movement at a time.

"That's it," you encouraged, an impressed smile gracing your face. "You are learning to climb. Let the mountain become an extension of yourself."

As Neteyam climbed higher, he discovered a sense of connection with the ancient stone, almost as if he and it were in sync. The initial clumsiness gave way to a familiarity he hadn't known he possessed. The wind played with his hair, and the distant calls of the mountain banshees echoed through the slopes above. Time seemed to slow as he focused solely on the present moment, the climb becoming an intimate conversation between him and the mountains.

Overlooking the village, you and Neteyam now stood at the high plateau, the world spread out below you like a vast canvas. The mountains had always been your personal sanctuary, a place where you found peace and strength, a respite away from the stress of your responsibilities. So, seeing Neteyam experience this awe-inspiring view for the first time brought a smile to your face.

You moved to sit by him, taking his hands in yours, and carefully tending to the scratches on his arms with a salve you always carried. The soothing ointment provided a gentle touch to his roughened skin, and he looked at you with a mix of gratitude and affection.

"It is rare for someone to pick things up so quickly. You are a very fast learner," you say, breaking the silence to praise him. "You also do not give up easily. You have a strong heart."

"Thank you," Neteyam replied, pride evident in his voice as he preened from your heartfelt compliments, a fanged grin stretching across his cheeks.

He then turned his attention back towards the view, his eyes sparkling with wonder and captivation as he beheld the breathtaking beauty spread out before him.

"It is like nothing I've ever seen," Neteyam marveled, his voice thick with an accent native to the forests. "Back home the sky is usually hidden by tall trees. You'd have to climb up one if you want a glimpse."

Pausing your ministrations, you leaned toward him. "Tell me more," you urged, genuinely curious. "What is it like in the forest?"

A spark ignited in Neteyam's eyes as he delved into a passionate account of his experiences in his home village. He spoke with animated enthusiasm, painting vivid pictures of the lush greenery that adorned the landscape, each vibrant flora seemingly glowing with its own bioluminescent brilliance. The rivers and cascading waterfalls he described were a source of life, teeming with an abundance of fresh fish.

With every word, he brought to life the swift direhorses, their graceful forms racing across the terrain, and the fearsome thanators, lean and agile stalking through the night. Mixed in with that joy, there was a longing in his voice, a yearning to experience it once more.

"Do you miss it?" you asked, cutting him off gently, your keen perception sensing the ache in his heart.

"Yes," he sighed wistfully, the weight of nostalgia evident in his chest. "I really do."

You offered a comforting presence, placing a hand over his shoulder in a gesture of solace. The two of you then moved to lay on the soft grass, resting side by side in the embrace of nature. A companionable silence settled between you, hearts connected over the memories of home and the beauty of the world you both cherished.

In the midst of this peaceful moment, a question that had lingered in your mind resurfaced.

"Neteyam?" you called out, turning on your side. His ears flicked in curiosity as he looked towards you, brows raised.

"The banshee you rode a few days ago... Was she yours?" you murmured softly.

"Yes," Neteyam confirmed, a fond smile touching his lips. "Do you want to meet her?"

You nodded eagerly, and he stood up, offering you a hand. You took it, his battle-hardened palm was rough against your skin but his touch had a comforting warmth to it. With a gentle tug, he effortlessly lifted you off the ground, dragging you toward the edge of the peak.

Emitting a powerful cry, Neteyam called for his ikran, the sound echoing through the air. Moments later, the sky came alive with the powerful flapping of wings, and she arrived with a resonating squawk. Her mighty form hovered before you, and you were left breathless by the sight of her robust wings enveloped in the light.

As she landed gracefully before you, you couldn't help but be in awe of her presence. Her eyes, filled with intelligence and a hint of curiosity, locked onto yours, and it felt as though she could see into your very soul.

Neteyam approached his ikran with a calm and composed demeanor making tsaheylu.

"This is Seze," he introduced you to her. "I have been flying with her ever since I was thirteen."

Your excitement was palpable as you gazed upon the majestic banshee before you. Your hand reached out cautiously, not wanting to startle her, as you gently stroked her strong chest and neck. The sensation of her thick, supple skin beneath your fingers sent a thrill through your entire being.

"She is beautiful," you cooed, tail swishing behind you in joy.

"Yes. Very beautiful." Neteyam's response was soft, and though he agreed with your sentiment, it was clear that his focus wasn't on Seze. Instead, his gaze was fixed on you, and you could feel the intensity of his stare as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your being. There was something in the way he looked at you, a certain depth of emotion that couldn't be easily put into words.

A warm and shy smile graced your lips as you turned away from Neteyam, now facing back toward the vast expanse of the open sky.

"I too will show you mine," you declared. With a sharp whistle, you called for your ikran to join the encounter.

In response to your call, your spirit sister appeared in all her glory, gliding gracefully through the air before landing near you with an air of elegance. Beaming, you watched as her wings fluttered in excitement. It had been long since you last met up with her. Your duties as Tsahìk had kept you busy for a long, long while.

"This is Ayvit. She is my spirit sister," you proudly gestured to her. Reaching for your kuru, you gently made tsaheylu, cooing affectionately at your sweet girl.

"It is nice to meet her," Neteyam said warmly as he moved to run a hand up your ikran's snout. Ayvit let out a soft chirp as if acknowledging Neteyam and his banshee, and you couldn't help but smile at the interaction between them.

"I think she likes me," he remarked, observing the gentle way Ayvit tilted her head in his direction.

"Yes, you are very likable," you replied, timidly averting your gaze to the ground.

"I am?" Neteyam grinned, his expression filled with a mix of amusement and charm. It was evident that his confidence had grown during your time together, and that paired with your newfound ease around his presence further deepened your growing relationship.

With a shake of your head, you gently nudged at his head in a playful manner. Then, turning around, you reached into Ayvit's saddle, retrieving a riding visor from the compartment. As you lifted it up, it became evident that this visor was unlike anything Neteyam was accustomed to seeing back home.

Your riding visor had an exotic design, native to your clan. It was rounder and adorned with vibrant colors and shimmering gems, a striking contrast to the simpler styles he was used to. The woven headpiece was crafted in a soft lilac hue, complementing your skin's natural blue tone.

After slipping off your headpiece that denoted your status as Tsahìk, you placed the visor atop your head, securing it around your ears. The moment seemed to mark a shift, as you felt a sense of liberation wash over you as if you were shedding the formalities to reveal a more unburdened and personal side of yourself to Neteyam.

With practiced ease, you moved towards Ayvit, a rush of anticipation surging through your veins. You climbed onto the saddle, feeling the smooth, cool leather beneath your fingertips. Quickly, you secured yourself, making sure the bindings were tight and fastened well.

"Come," you grinned at Neteyam, tail coiling as a glint of thrill danced in your eyes. "Let's ride!"

With a whoop of exhilaration, you urged Ayvit forward, and with a powerful thrust of her wings, she propelled herself off the mountain peak. Neteyam laughed as he swiftly mounted Seze and joined you in flight.

As you and Neteyam soared through the vast open skies, the wind tousled at your hair and caressed your cheeks, carrying the scents of the wild. The beating of Ayvit's powerful wings resonated in perfect rhythm with Seze's.

Peals of laughter slipped from your lips, blending with the rush of air around you. Gazing at Neteyam, you couldn't help but be captivated by the joy etched on his face. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and a radiant, handsome smile adorned his features.

Together, you explored the breathtaking landscapes from above, the lush forests, the winding rivers, and the towering mountains painted in hues of orange and pink by the setting sun. Ayvit and Seze seemed to revel in the thrill of the flight, each spread of their wings carrying you higher and further, as if they, too, were caught up in the strengthening of your bond.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the hues of warm sunset in the sky washed away, now bathed in the tranquil colors of twilight. With Ayvit and Seze now keeping a steady pace, you and Neteyam glided side by side, enjoying the serene, dreamlike ambiance of the atmosphere.

"We have to return soon," you called out to Neteyam. The warrior looked to you in confusion.

Guiding Ayvit to fly closer to his side, you reminded him, "I promised your brothers and sisters I would teach them how to make a healing salve. They must be waiting."

Neteyam merely hummed in response, his gaze lingering on you with a tender smile.

"Let them wait," he spoke softly. "I want to spend more time with you."

His words stirred a delightful flutter in your chest, and you couldn't help but feel a smile creep onto your face. With a subtle click of your tongue, you urged Ayvit to turn slightly, now flying a bit farther from him.

Shifting your gaze, you couldn't help but steal secret glances at Neteyam's figure, utterly mesmerized as he skillfully guided Seze through the night sky.

Eywa... Had he always been this handsome?

His thick, braided hair, the color of dark ink, cascaded down his broad shoulders, catching the moonlight as it whipped through the crisp air. His strong, sharp jaw and cheek exuded a rugged masculinity that contrasted beautifully with the gentleness in his eyes. Those eyes, the color of rich gold and flecked with hues of deep burgundy were windows to a soul that carried the weight of the world.

Neteyam was both beautiful and mighty.

And he was to be yours.

Late at night, your healing hut exuded a soothing atmosphere, filled with the soft glow of torchlight and the gentle radiance of bioluminescent plants which cast a gentle, ethereal glow that bathed the room in cool colors.

Tuktirey, with her wide, curious eyes, wandered around the room in awe. She was captivated by the sight of the glowing medicinal flora adorning the walls, and her small hands reached out to explore the many trinkets that adorned your hut. With childlike wonder, she immersed herself in the enchanting environment, discovering new wonders at every turn.

Meanwhile, you and the older Sully kids gathered around a table. Guiding them step-by-step, you taught them the art of crafting a simple healing salve, constantly emphasizing its importance for treating mild injuries.

"This is called ngamut," you patiently explained, the unfamiliar dialect causing some confusion among them as they struggled to pronounce the word.

"Gamut?" Neteyam attempted, his accent thick, making an earnest effort to mimic the foreign syllables.

Shaking your head, you repeated it once more, enunciating it more clearly, "Ngamut."

"Agamut?" Neteyam toyed with you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

In response, you huffed and affectionately flicked the side of his head.

"Ngamuutt," you emphasized, drawing out the word to help him get the pronunciation right.

"Ngamuutt," he repeated, his smile growing wider, knowing he finally got it correct. With a nod of approval, you resumed stirring the paste, your skilled hands expertly mixing the ingredients.

“You two are already acting like a mated couple,” Lo'ak teased, lazily holding his bowl of paste in one hand. The medicine in the bowl, if you could even call it that, was a sad mess of lazily torn leaves and clumsily poured syrup, hardly resembling a proper healing salve.

"Leave them be," Kiri rolled her eyes, taking the monstrosity of a paste away from Lo'ak and attempting to salvage it. "I think it's good that they are getting along well."

"We really do," Neteyam agrees, his expression soft as he peered at you. He holds your stare for a moment before turning to his siblings.

"But I have to tell you—she is a very harsh teacher. It's either her way or die," he grins.

You couldn't help but smirk at his remark. "I told you I wasn't going to baby you," you retorted, playfully flicking a bit of the messy paste towards him.

Neteyam laughed, the sound like music to your ears. "I know, I know," he replied, his grin never fading. "But I have to admit, your teaching methods are effective."

"I am aware," you replied with a smug look before swiftly snapping back into your stern demeanor. "But this flattery will get you nowhere. Come now, let me see your paste."

As you leaned over to inspect the paste Neteyam had made, he unexpectedly turned his face toward you. The sudden movement caused his lips to brush against yours, and you both froze. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Both your eyes met—milky blues locking with golden browns—as you both silently drank in each other's features.

Faintly, you could feel Neteyam's hand brushing gently against your sides, and a shiver ran up your spine from the touch of his calloused fingers against your skin. The connection between you felt electric, a tingling sensation spreading through your body.

The daze was broken as Kiri cleared her throat, interrupting the moment. Both of you snapped out of your trance, but the lingering tension between you and him remained palpable, shimmering just beneath the surface. A touch of bashfulness colored your expressions, cheeks flushed from the shared vulnerability of that brief, intimate encounter.

Lo'ak's smug expression didn't help, fangs poking out from his lips in a teasing grin. You shot him a half-hearted glare, hoping to deter any further teasing, but it only seemed to fuel him.

"Well," he chimed, "looks like you two had quite the moment there."

"Lo'ak, your paste is going to end up poisoning someone," you snapped, trying to deflect the attention from the romantic moment. "Fix it."

Lo'ak's mouth dropped in shock, an offended expression washing over him as he began to protest. Ignoring his complaints, you quickly regained your composure and shifted your focus back to the lesson at hand.

"Neteyam, your paste is watery," you pointed out. "Add more leaves and stir it slowly to thicken it up."

The warrior nodded, still looking a little flustered as he busied himself with the medication, trying his best to focus and ignore the lingering warmth from the almost kiss.

Throughout the lesson, glances were exchanged, small smiles were shared, and the air seemed thick with your unspoken feelings. Kiri and Lo'ak could clearly notice the change, sharing knowing looks between themselves. Despite this, they chose to respect the unspoken bond forming between you and Neteyam, allowing you both the space to navigate this new territory.

As the night wore on, you finally deemed them capable enough, and the lesson was complete. The Sullys began to gather their things, expressing gratitude for your teaching and slowly making their way out of the hut. Neteyam, however, stayed back for a moment, his intense stare lingering on you.

Before he left, he took a step closer, and with a tender touch, ran a hand up your cheek, his rough fingers gentle against your skin. The touch of him against you sent a pulse of warmth through your body, and you leaned into the warrior's touch, savoring the tender moment.

"I'll see you tomorrow, syulang," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of affection and anticipation.

"Tomorrow," you replied softly, caressing the back of his hand, feeling the steady beat of his heart pulsating through his veins.

As the Sully kids bid their final farewells and left your hut, you pressed your back against the woven door, trying to steady your racing heart. The soft glow of torchlight and bioluminescent plants bathed the room, mirroring the gentle pink glow that now enveloped your very being.

"I see him," you draw in a sharp breath, a hand clasping over your chest.

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some romance is finally blooming ! it would be so bad if something happened to our couple, huh? also guys, i can't thank you enough for the comments! there are a lot of them from both my ao3 and tumblr so i get overwhelmed and don't know what to reply but just know that i appreciate it all so much! xoxoxo

TAGLIST: @rainbowsockmonkeys @milktealvrr @strawberri-blonde @dark-mark @v4mp1rr3 @xylianasblog @piceous21 @celi-xxmoon @corpsebridenightamare @ducks118 @ok-boke @bluealiensimp @tyongluvs @theyoungeagle @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @nerdfacesposts @isnt-itstrange @smile-skxawng @eywas-heir @mochiivqi @wavesarchive @aurora-starwars @simpforramenboy@crazy4books1 @jamie-poopoo

If you can't see your blog, that means I could tag you! :(

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gremlin-girly · 4 months ago

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Flufftober Day 10

@flufftober

Prompt(s): Bet/Game/Contest

Pairing: Dean Winchester x f!reader

Warnings/tags: misogyny/catcalling/dude being a creep and asshole (not Dean), duelling, canon-typical violence, Dean being a dork, I'm putting a warning here for cringe/stalker/gross behaviour from the asshole,

Summary: Whilst perusing a stall at the renfair you encounter a guy that just won't leave you be, when Dean overhears. As penance for coming to your "rescue", he's challenged to a duel for your hand.

Word count: 1.1k

A/N: I just loved writing this one. I actually went and re-watched the episode before I wrote it after I had the idea💀 I was stuck on this prompt for a while. I was thinking of pie eating contests (duh-doy) and bets with Loki but nothing seemed good enough. But I hope you enjoy reading! - Love, Grem 💜

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! 💜 Dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

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Smoke wafted in-between the stalls and tents of Ye Olde Marketplace, the smell of meats, mead and treats making your mouth water. This was your second renaissance fair and you were determined to make it worthwhile. You were an elf this time around, not necessarily LARPing but just in costume; the whole nine yards with flowers in your hair, glitter on your cheeks and of course, pointed ears. Your outfit complimented your body excellently as well as your elven "character". Layered skirts and flowy bouse with your body adorned in earth-toned accessories, it was no wonder you were stared at by other fair goers.

One in particular had followed you from stall to stall. You tried blocking him out but the skin-crawling feeling of being watched had you on edge. You picked up a crystal at one of the stalls ran by a guy in a comical wizard hat and a long grey beard, reading the miniscule cursive card on the stand amongst the crystals. You couldn't make out every word but you thought it read something about keeping bad energies at bay.

You really needed that right now.

"Mi'lady." A voice said from beside you, making you jump. It was that guy. You can't control your facial expression as you cringe at him.

"Hi." You mutter and turn away. You secretly hope that all of the anti-douchebag crystals are out in full force because this is not something you do not want to be dealing with today.

"What doth bring a fair maiden such as yourself to a place such as this?"

His voice is grating and you suppress a shiver, opting to continue browsing instead of answering. Why did this have to happen to you?

"Hey!" The guy begins, reaching a hand out to you. "I'm talking to yo-"

You turn as you see his hand reaching towards you, ready to chew him out for being a creep, but another hand halted his hand in its tracks. Your eyes widen as you follow your rescuer's hand all the way up his arm to his face. He's dressed as some sort of knight, loose shirt and some chainmail, but his features have a stormy look to them as he glares at the guy who'd been following you. You melt into a puddle; handsome doesn't even begin to cover how damn good this guy looked. Even if he did have powdered sugar on his cheek.

"This guy bothering you?" His voice is gruff and stern, green eyes meeting yours and you find you can't quite say anything.

"Uh, well -"

"I wasn't doing anything - I was here first!" The creep protests and the look on your face says it all; you're disgusted and unimpressed.

You look back to your knight with no shining armour. "Yeah. He's bothering me."

"I declare a duel!" The creep says loudly and a few passers-by slow down to nosy in on the conversation. "For the lady's hand."

"Dude," Your hero sighs, looking incredulous at him as you roll your eyes with repulsion. "Give it a rest. Just take your damn potions and go."

The creep unsheathes a wooden sword and points it at your hero, who half-heartedly shrugs with an exasperated "really?". The creep jabs him in the chest once. He doesn't quite get to the second jab as his sword is smacked out of the way and a swift punch lands perfectly in the square of his face.

With a sickening crack he slumps to the ground, clutching a bleeding nose. You can't help but feel a little smug at the sight and your heart swoons just a little at the scene you've just experienced. A handsome knight coming to rescue a damsel in distress.

"Come on," You say to your knight, nodding to one of the other colourful stalls. "I believe I owe you a drink for rescuing me."

You set down two butter-beers on a picnic table, and jostle a brown paper bag of freshly made mini donuts in the middle. The smell that wafts from the bag is sickening - and you reach in and pop one into your mouth as soon as you're seated.

Your knight, who you found that his name was Dean, took a sip from the buttery stein in front of him, making a grunt of approval and immediately swigging more.

"Thanks again," You say over your own glass. "You fight for a maiden's honour a lot?" “It’s what I do. Saving people.” He looks like he’s about to add something else, but clears his throat, looking sheepish. “It’s a family thing, ya know?” “Hm.” You don’t know whether it’s the LARPing or if he’s being genuine, but your heart flutters again and you can't help but smile at him. He's stuffing two mini donuts into his mouth but when he catches you smiling at him, he attempts to smile back but his cheeks are too full and when you laugh at him his cheeks go pink.

"Well, cheers!" You raise your stein and clink it with his. The conversation ebbs and flows naturally and you soon find yourself engrossed in his family history - well, his character's family history - about monsters and demons and angels. It's so well-thought out you're almost embarrassed to not have anything so detailed.

After Dean's phone rings as you're traversing stalls together (nearly three hours later) and a very curt conversation with someone on the other end, Dean gives you an apologetic look.

"Sorry, duty calls." He sighs, tucking his phone away into his pocket again. You'd already exchanged numbers earlier after finding out you had more in common than you'd realised, and at the very least, if you couldn't date the guy you could at least be friends.

"That's alright. I had a blast today." You gush, grinning at him. He gives you a boyish smile in return and before he has a chance to say anything else, you lean up to place a soft peck on his cheek. Dean's smile only grows wider when you sternly remind him, "Keep in touch, Dean Winchester. I wanna know all about these monsters and the next parts of the story."

"Yes ma'am." He affirms with a short nod, making his way out of the fair, nearly tripping into a hidden rabbit hole because he can't stop looking over at you as he leaves.

You giggle and wave him out of sight. Perhaps you should make an equally intricate backstory for your LARP character, though not as sad as Dean's, using today as an example. You decide then and there that meeting Dean Winchester ought to be a turning point for something good instead of bad. Although, you can't quite decide who your next monster of the week will be.

You'll just have to call Dean for some ideas.

#Fluff #Flufftober 2024 #Dean Winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #gremlin-girly #gremlin-girly writes #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #dean supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #dean winchester x female!reader #female reader #flufftober2024 #Dean at the renfair #day 9

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yaniluvs · 2 days ago

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𝒾𝒾𝒾 ⁞ AS WE ARE “𝑎 𝑏𝘰𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑦, 𝑠𝑎𝜈𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝘰𝑢𝑟 𝘰𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝘰𝑛𝑙𝑦.” ── hang out. libraries. kids. food. turns out, baseball guy isn't only a baseball guy..?

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𓍯 baseballcapt!seungmin ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）9.1k── ༯ SERIES uni au, slow paced & slow burn, curiosity, fluff, strangers to friends to ???, small town, slight angst, language, skz ensemble, very long, y/n is a foreigner/has mixed ethnicity, angsty, humour. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ a month and 5 days to the last update of this fic omg !!!!! yes it is finally here and it's very long. IM SORRY but i love this chapter sm im actually so proud of myself with this :3 hope you all like it !! <3 i love seungmin sm guys, pls tag me if you find any good seungmo fics mwah. also when i posted the last chapter, i had only crossed 300 followers. right now, as of when im posting this, i actually just passed 600 of you, oh my god. in a span of 36 days, thank you so much to every single one of you ! this really motivates me a lot :(( i am also posting the requested fics soon loves, please be patient !!! comments, likes, req/asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading <3

the sun hung low in the sky, its warm rays stretching lazily over the quiet baseball field. a faint breeze rustled the leaves of nearby trees, carrying with it the distant hum of voices from the university festival on the other side of town.

y/n strolled across the usual field with her usual carefree stride, her satchel slung over one shoulder and a grande paper cup of peach tea in her hand. her gaze caught a familiar figure, who she may have been hoping to find.

he stood on the pitcher’s mound, his cap pulled low over his face as usual, a baseball gripped loosely in his hand. his focus was sharp, his movements practiced and fluid as he wound up and pitched the ball toward the net. the satisfying smack of the ball hitting its target echoed across the empty field.

she paused for a moment, watching him. he looked so at ease here, like the field was an extension of himself. she smiled to herself before calling out, “practicing alone again?”

seungmin turned at the sound of her voice, his expression softening slightly when he saw her. “car girl, again,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

she rolled her eyes at the nickname, though she couldn’t help but smile. “that nickname is never going away, is it?”

“not a chance,” he said, turning back to the net and throwing another pitch.

she began teasingly, walking closer to the netted boundary of the field. “so, has this time now become your usual or are you just excited to see your new friend everyday now?”

he shrugged, tossing the ball idly in one hand. “don't flatter yourself, maybe it's because i'm actually bored for once.”

“oh well, didn't hurt to try,” she laughed softly, the sound light and warm like the breeze that rustled the trees surrounding the field. she stopped a few feet away from him, crossing her arms as she watched the ball sail cleanly into the net. “your friends aren't here today?”

“nope,” he replied, brushing a bit of dirt off his palm. “they’re at some event thing on campus. didn’t feel like going.”

“why not?” she asked, genuinely curious.

he shrugged, retrieving another ball from the bucket nearby. “not my scene.”

she tilted her head, a teasing smile on her lips. “you say that about a lot of things.”

“that’s because it’s true about a lot of things,”

“so, instead of loud festivals, you decided to spend your evening throwing balls alone?”

“better than standing around pretending to have fun,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smirk as he pitched the ball again.

“you really do have a grumpy streak, don’t you?”

“i’m not grumpy,” he shot back, catching the ball as it rebounded off the glove.

“you keep saying that,” she said, her voice light with amusement. “but i’m not convinced.”

seungmin glanced at her, shaking his head. “you talk too much.”

“again, only because you talk too little,” she countered easily, her grin widening.

he let out a soft huff—somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—before walking over to grab the ball again. this time, instead of pitching, he sat down on the grass near her, resting his elbows on his knees.

she blinked in mild surprise but quickly recovered, sitting up straighter. “taking a break?”

“something like that,” he said, spinning the ball absently in his hands.

“so,” she began, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning forward slightly. “if you don’t like festivals or loud places, what do you like?”

he gave her a sidelong glance, as if deciding whether to answer. “quiet places. like the library.”

“oh, so you did like the library,” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

he shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “i liked that it was quiet.”

“and because it had me,” she joked, “and what else? besides quiet places?”

he was quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the sun hung low, casting long shadows across the field. “baseball,” he said eventually. “obviously.”

“obviously,” she echoed with a playful smile. “what else?”

“you’re really nosy,” he said, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“i prefer ‘curious,’” she said with a shrug. “come on, there’s gotta be more to you than baseball and quiet places.”

he didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, she thought he might not answer at all. but then he said, almost reluctantly, “music.”

her eyes lit up. “really? what kind?”

“depends,” he said, turning the ball in his hands. “mostly calm stuff. acoustic, sometimes jazz.”

“same!” she said excitedly, leaning forward. “do you play anything?”

he glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “guitar. a little, a friend is helping me.”

“seriously?” she asked, her excitement growing. “that’s really cool. i tried to play piano in elementary.. but let's just say i'm not too good with two hands and multitasking.”

"well, guess it’s a good thing breathing only takes one set of lungs."

“you're mean.”

“i prefer honest.”

“what about singing?” she asked again, her voice softer now.

he raised an eyebrow. “what about it?”

“do you sing?”

he shook his head. “not really.”

“not really or not at all?”

“not at all,” he said firmly, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“hm, interesting.” she mumbled under her breath, as he looked at her for a bit, and then stood up, dusting the dirt off his tracks and walking back to the field.

“so, what’s your plan? just… keep throwing balls at a net until sunset?”

“pretty much,” he said, glancing at her. “unless you’ve got a better idea.”

“are you admitting to wanting to be in my company?”

“no, i'm simply taking your offer from yesterday. you know, if i ever need help venturing around.”

“oh, did i say that?”

“you compared yourself to dor-”

“it's a rhetorical question!” her cheeks warmed up, at the realisation of her random 'boldness' from the previous day.

“but.. fair enough,” she shrugged, “in that case, i might have a better idea or a few.” she said, her grin widening mischievously.

he raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but willing to entertain her suggestion. “oh yeah? let’s hear it.”

“well, it’s not much of a plan yet,” she admitted, resting her chin on her knees. “but you could hang out with your beloved library-worker-plus-her-who's-mysteriously-at-the-field-every-day-now-turned-friend, later. you know, after you’re done being all serious and athletic.”

he paused, the ball in his hand, and looked at her fully for a moment. “hang out?”

“yeah,” she said casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “you’re bored and free, i’m bored and free… why not?”

he considered her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “you’re pretty straightforward, you know that?”

she grinned, unfazed. “pretty? check. straightforward? definitely check. so yeah, what do you say?”

“i’ll think about it,” he said, turning back to the net.

“wow,” she said, pretending to be offended. “that’s the most noncommittal answer and rejection i’ve ever heard.”

he smirked slightly, not looking at her. “better than a no.”

“fine.” she said with a shrug, leaning back on her hands.

they fell into a comfortable silence after that, the rhythmic thwack of the ball hitting the net filling the air. the sun hung lower in the sky now, casting long shadows across the field and painting everything in shades of gold and orange.

eventually, the guy had straightened up, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced over at y/n, who was still sitting in the grass, absentmindedly twisting a strand of hair around her finger as she watched the sky.

“you’re still here,” he said, his tone more surprised than accusatory.

“oh you're done!” she replied, smiling up at him. “and yeah, of course, i was waiting for your answer.”

he shook his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “you're not gonna leave unless i say no, are you?”

“glad to know you're catching up! but i know you were never gonna say no, if you had a choice too.” her face lit up instantly, her grin so bright it could’ve rivaled the setting sun. “i promise i won’t be too annoying, by the way.”

“somehow, i don’t believe that,” he said, though there was no real bite to his words.

she laughed, springing to her feet and brushing the grass off her skirt. “you’ll survive. come on, let’s go, baseball boy.”

he rolled his eyes but followed her off the field, the faintest hint of a smile still lingering on his lips.

“call me a creep,” she said with a grin, glancing back at him as he tried to catch up with her. “but i did see a messy stack of crumpled music sheets under your backpack the other day. so i know you're not good at lying.”

seungmin froze mid-step, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed her words. he stopped walking, turning his head slowly to look at her with a mixture of suspicion and amusement.

“you what?” he asked, voice laced with disbelief but not quite sharp.

y/n stopped a few paces ahead of him, spinning around to face him with an innocent shrug and a playful grin. “you heard me.” she leaned slightly toward him as if to emphasize her point.

he blinked at her, “you really are a creep.”

“hey!” she exclaimed, laughing as she placed a hand over her chest in mock offense. “i wasn’t snooping or anything. i just.. happened to see it while you were busy.”

“you just happened to notice crumpled music sheets under my backpack? that’s oddly specific.”

“call it observational skills,” she said matter-of-factly, tilting her head as she smiled at him again. “besides, you’re dodging the point.”

“which is?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“you’re not good at lying,” she said, her tone teasing but her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “you said you didn’t play anything? but clearly, you’ve got something going on with music.”

he stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. she could tell he was debating whether or not to admit anything. finally, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked off to the side while they walked slower.

“it’s not a big deal,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.

she raised an eyebrow, her grin softening into something more genuine. “clearly, it’s a big enough deal that you’re hiding it.”

“it’s just.. something i mess around with sometimes,” he said, still avoiding her gaze. “nothing serious.”

“mess around with?” she echoed, “like ..writing? playing? singing?”

“all of the above,” he admitted reluctantly, his voice barely audible.

“that's really cool, you know.”

“it’s not,” he said quickly, looking genuinely embarrassed now. “it’s just something i do when i’m bored.”

“doesn’t matter,” she said with a shake of her head. “it’s still cool. and honestly, it makes so much sense now.”

“what does?”

“why you’re so good at reading people,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “music’s all about emotions, right? you must have a knack for it.”

he blinked at her, clearly caught off guard by her logic. “…that’s a stretch.”

“is it?” she asked, tilting her head as she looked at him again. “come on, admit it. you’re secretly a genius, aren’t you?”

he rolled his eyes, but there was a faint flush on his cheeks now, barely visible in the dimming light. “you’re really weird, you know that?”

“and you’re really deflecting,” she said, grinning as she nudged his arm with her shoulder.

silence. the field was quiet, as the pair finally exited through the rusty old gates.

“i’m not hiding it or anything,” he said after a long pause. “it’s just something i don’t really talk about. that’s all.”

she nodded, her smile softening into something more understanding. “i get it. but for the record, i think it's a great hobby. you don’t have to hide it around me.”

he glanced at her then, his expression unreadable for a moment before he let out a quiet chuckle.

the walk was simple. the quiet of the small town wrapping around them like a warm blanket. the golden-orange glow of streetlights lit up the pathway in patches, casting soft shadows as the two strolled side by side. the occasional passerby—an older man walking his dog or a young couple holding hands—added a gentle hum of life to the evening, but it was mostly just the two of them.

y/n kicked at a stray pebble on the sidewalk, the sound of it skittering ahead breaking the silence. she looked over at seungmin, who was walking with his hands in his pockets, his shoulders relaxed but his face unreadable.

“you walk like you have all the time in the world.”

he raised an eyebrow at her. “and you walk like you’re about to challenge someone to a race.”

“funny you should say that,” she grinned, already picking up her pace. “because i was just thinking—”

“y/n, no,” he said immediately, his tone flat but his eyes narrowing as if he already knew where this was going.

“oh, come on!” she laughed, already a few steps ahead of him now. she spun around to face him, walking backward as she pointed toward the distant outline of the bus stop up ahead. “race you to the bus stop. loser owes the winner a snack!”

“i’m not racing you,” he said, shaking his head.

“scared you’ll lose?” she taunted, her grin widening.

he let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. “considering i'm the least athletic, y-” he mumbled to himself.

“fine,” she said, throwing her hands up dramatically. “guess i’ll just win by default, then!”

with that, she turned and took off, her laughter trailing behind her as she sprinted toward the bus stop.

seungmin stood there for a second, watching her with an incredulous look before muttering under his breath, “unbelievable.” despite himself, he started jogging after her, his strides quickly closing the gap between them.

she reached the bus stop just a second before him, her chest heaving as she laughed and turned to face him. “looks like you owe me—”

“nothing,” he interrupted, standing just a few feet away, barely out of breath. “you cheated.”

“what?” she exclaimed, her hands flying to her hips. “how did i cheat?”

“you gave yourself a head start,”

“excuses, excuses,” she said, waving him off as she leaned against the bus stop pole. “a loss is a loss, seungmin.”

before he could reply, the bus pulled up, its headlights cutting through the dim light. the doors hissed open, and y/n wasted no time, darting inside with the same energy as before. “i call the window seat!” she called over her shoulder.

seungmin followed her at a more relaxed pace, shaking his head. “you’re a child,” he muttered as he climbed the steps.

“aren't we all?”

inside, the bus was mostly empty, save for a small group of middle schoolers sitting near the front. they were chatting animatedly, their voices a mix of excitement and laughter. she had already claimed her spot by the window, her bag plopped down on her lap as she looked out at the darkening sky.

“don’t just stand there,” she said, looking up at him with a teasing smile. “sit.”

he sighed, sliding into the seat beside her. “you’re really full of energy today.”

“always am,” she replied cheerfully, leaning her head against the window as the bus started moving.

the middle schoolers noticed them then, their curious eyes flicking toward the older pair. one of the boys leaned forward, his face lighting up as he addressed the girl. “are you guys dating?”

seungmin nearly choked on his own breath, his head snapping toward the kid in disbelief.

y/n, however, paused, then shaking her head and senses back. “we’re friends.”

“really?” the boy asked, tilting his head. “you look like you’re dating.”

“we’re not,” seungmin said firmly, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

another girl from the group leaned in, grinning. “but you’d make a cute couple!”

“i swear, all kids this age only talk about crushes and dating..” he mumbled silently.

“see?” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “even kids think we’re cute together.”

“don’t encourage them.”

she laughed again, turning back to the kids. “what about you guys? why are you out so late?”

“we had cram school,” one of them replied, his tone dramatic. “it’s the worst.”

y/n gasped in mock horror, clasping her hands together. “cram school? at your age? you poor things.”

the kids laughed, clearly enjoying her playful energy. “do you go to uni?” one of the girls asked.

“yup,” she said, nodding. “and i work part-time at the library, too. it’s fun, but uni is… a lot.”

“you work at a library?” the boy from earlier asked. “that’s so cool!”

“not as cool as you think,” she said with a wink. “but it has its moments.”

as the conversation continued, seungmin found himself watching her more than he intended to. the way her eyes lit up as she talked to the kids, the easy way she laughed and made them feel comfortable—it was… nice. she had this warmth about her, this effortless ability to make people smile.

he didn’t realize he was staring until one of the kids pointed at him. “what about you, mister? what do you do?”

“baseball,” he said simply, his gaze flicking away from her as he addressed the group.

“whoa, really? are you on a team?”

“not really an official one,” he said, his tone calm but polite. “but it's with my uni friends.”

“that’s so cool!” the kids chorused, their admiration genuine.

“looks like you’ve got some fans.”

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“absolutely,”

as the bus continued down the quiet streets, the group fell into a comfortable rhythm, the kids’ chatter filling the space. and though seungmin wasn’t much of a talker, he found himself joining in, answering their questions and even cracking a joke or two.

she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her smile softening as she watched him interact with the kids. for someone who claimed to be reserved, he had a way of connecting with people when he let his guard down.

by the time the bus reached their stop, the middle schoolers waved goodbye with big smiles, their energy still high.

“see you around!” one of them called as they hopped off.

“bye!” y/n had replied, waving back enthusiastically.

as the two of them stepped off the bus, the quiet of the town greeted them once more. she stretched her arms above her head, a content sigh escaping her lips. “come on,” she skipped quickly.

“so,” seungmin said, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and giving her a skeptical look. “where exactly are we going? you never actually said. are you sure you’re not kidnapping me?”

“if i were kidnapping you, wouldn’t i have tied you up and thrown you in the bus trunk or something?”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “you’ve clearly never kidnapped anyone before. that’s not how it works.”

“oh, you’re an expert now?” she shot back, her grin widening as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

“i’ve watched enough movies to know you’re doing it wrong,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching upward.

“good to know.” she gave him a mock salute before skipping a little farther down the street. “come on! i know a great street food cart around here. you’re not afraid of trying new things, are you?”

he raised an eyebrow as he followed her. “i think i’ll survive. lead the way, sunshine.”

they stopped at a small street food cart nestled on a quiet corner, the warm smell of grilled meat and savory spices filling the air. a cheerful elderly vendor greeted them with a smile, his weathered hands busy flipping skewers on the grill. the small counter was lined with colorful condiments, sauces, and steaming bowls of rice.

“ah, young love!” the vendor teased as they approached. “out for a date, y/n?”

y/n's cheeks flushed, but she recovered quickly, laughing as she leaned her elbows on the counter. “not a date. just two people enjoying good food.”

“hmm, that’s what they all say,” the man said with a wink, handing her a menu.

seungmin sighed, shaking his head. “we’re not—”

“shh,” she interrupted, whispering, nudging him with her elbow. “let the man think what he wants. who knows, we might even get a discount.”

he gave her a look but didn’t argue, instead glancing at the menu she was holding. “what’s good here?”

“everything,” she said with a grin, handing it to him. “but if i had to pick, the japchae and chicken skewers are my favorites.”

he nodded, ordering exactly what she suggested while y/n added a few other things to their order. as they waited, she leaned back against the cart, looking up at the star-dotted sky.

“you’re not from around here, are you?” seungmin asked suddenly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

she shook her head, still gazing upward. “nope.. well not exactly. had to move here after elementary. my grandparents live here, though. i’ve been staying with them.”

“must be nice,” he said, his tone soft. “having family nearby.”

she smiled at that, turning to face him. “yeah. they’re great. super nosy, though. if they knew i was out with you right now, they’d probably be interrogating me over dinner later.”

“oh, so i’m a topic of conversation now?” he teased, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

“only because they’re obsessed with matchmaking,” she replied, rolling her eyes fondly. “they're caring, though. they just.. want me to be happy.”

he studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “you seem happy.”

“i try to be,” she said simply, her voice quiet but steady, though there was an unfamiliar flicker in her eyes as she blinked it away. “life’s too short not to find little things to smile about, you know?”

before he could respond, the vendor handed them their food, and y/n immediately brightened, clapping her hands together. “perfect timing! let’s eat.”

they found a bench nearby, the soft glow of a lamppost casting a golden halo over their little spot. she handed him his share of the food before digging into her own, her face lighting up with every bite.

“this is so good,” she said around a mouthful of cold noodles, earning a laugh from seungmin.

“you’ve got sauce on your face,” he pointed out, gesturing to the corner of his own mouth.

“where?” she asked, swiping at her face with her sleeve.

“other side,” he said, leaning forward slightly. when she still missed it, he sighed, pulling a napkin from the bag and reaching over to wipe it off himself. “honestly, you’re worse than a kid.”

she froze for a second, her cheeks warming as his fingers brushed her skin. “thanks,” she mumbled, her voice softer than usual.

he pulled back quickly, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter. “you’re welcome.”

they ate in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the town around them—distant conversations, the hum of passing cars—filling the gaps. every now and then, seungmin would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, watching the way her face lit up as she talked about her favorite foods or how she waved enthusiastically at strangers passing by.

“you’re really… outgoing,” he said finally, his tone thoughtful.

“is that a bad thing?”

“no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “it’s just.. different. in a good way.”

her smile softened, and she looked down at her hands. “thanks. i think?”

he shrugged, taking another bite of his food. “don’t let it go to your head.”

she laughed, the sound light and musical, and he found himself smiling despite himself. for someone so different from him, she was surprisingly easy to be around.

she leaned back on the bench, her chopsticks idly stirring the remaining japchae sauce in her container. her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she turned toward seungmin, who was quietly munching on a chicken skewer.

“so,” she began, her tone playful yet pointed. “you said you did play the guitar right?”

he paused mid-bite, his brows furrowing slightly as he glanced at her. “why does it sound like an interrogation?”

“because it is,” she replied, grinning. “i mean, you didn’t mention it until i asked you. oh and what’s the deal with the music sheets under your backpack the other day? planning to start a band or something?”

he huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “hardly. i’m just.. messing around. nothing serious.”

“messing around?” she echoed, her head tilting slightly as she scrutinized him. “come on, min. you don’t just carry music sheets around for no reason. what are you working on?”

he shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze by focusing on the skewer in his hand. “i’m not working on anything. i just play a little when i have time. that’s all.”

she squinted at him, clearly unconvinced. “you’re being suspiciously vague.”

“maybe because there’s nothing more to say,” he countered, raising an eyebrow at her.

“oh, there’s definitely more to say,” she retorted, leaning closer as if trying to read his expression better. “do you write songs? or are you just playing covers? be honest—are you secretly a rockstar?”

he rolled his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “definitely not a rockstar. and no, i’m not writing songs. i barely know enough to play properly as it is.”

“barely know enough?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “you strike me as the type who’d quietly get really good at something and then pretend you’re just ‘okay’ at it.”

he let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “i’m really not that good. i’m just learning the basics. chords, strumming patterns, that kind of stuff.”

“that’s still cool,” she said earnestly, her face softening. “everyone starts somewhere. are you teaching yourself?”

“yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “i found an old guitar in the storage room at home and thought i’d give it a try. it’s.. relaxing.”

she smiled at that, leaning back against the bench. “music is good for that. it’s like.. this little world you can escape to, you know?”

“music is.. kind of magic, don’t you think?” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “like, it’s not just sounds. it’s emotion. it’s stories. it’s—” she paused, searching for the right word, “—connection. you can listen to a song in a language you don’t even understand, and still feel it. isn’t that amazing? like, how can a few notes and some words make you feel like that?”

she tilted her head back, staring up at the sky as she continued, her voice softening but growing no less passionate. “and it’s not just the big, dramatic moments, either. it’s the little ones, like how a single chord can make your chest ache, or how a melody can take you back to a memory you thought you’d forgotten. it’s so… alive. like it has this way of pulling you in, making you feel something you didn’t even know you were missing.”

he had just been listening, watching her as she spoke, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“and it’s so personal,” she said, her voice quieter now. “everyone has their own song, you know? something that feels like it’s just for them, like it knows them in a way no one else does. that’s what i love about it. music isn’t just one thing. it’s so many things, all at once. it’s chaos and comfort and beauty and sadness. it’s… everything.”

she exhaled, a small, almost sheepish smile crossing her face as she looked at him. “sorry, i’m rambling. i just—when i think about it, i can’t help it. it’s like… music’s the closest thing we have to magic.”

he glanced at her, surprised by how sincere she sounded. it was quiet for a moment, until he spoke. “do you?”

“hm?” that had gotten her attention, though the air felt slightly thicker now.

“i mean, you said earlier that you can't multitask. despite how hard i find it to believe- what i meant to ask was if you sang.. or tried playing after that or not.”

the girl only shifted her gaze and paused for a bit, exhaling as she smiled briefly again, “i did, try to play the guitar, in middle school. but i just kinda gave up after that,” she chuckled awkwardly. “and as for singing? i just hum here and there, but nothing professional or serious.”

“the way you talk about it says otherwise.”

“how do i talk about it?”

he tilted his head, studying her with an intensity that made her shift slightly in her seat. then, he smiled, soft and a little disbelieving, as if he couldn’t quite figure her out.

“you talk about it like it’s your whole world,” he started, his voice quieter, almost reflective. “like, when you mentioned music, your tone changed. it’s.. different. it’s not just words with you — it’s like your entire energy shifts. you sound so.. alive. like you’re describing something that’s a part of you, something you feel in your bones.”

he paused, glancing down at his hands as if he were trying to piece the rest together. “it’s in the way you look when you talk about it, too. you get this light in your eyes, like you’re remembering something important. like you’re somewhere else entirely—like music isn’t just something you like. it’s something you need. like it’s this space where nothing else matters, you know? like it’s a place that’s just yours.”

she blinked, caught off guard by the weight of his words. he ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat as though realizing how much he’d said. but then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he continued, his gaze locking onto hers again.

his words hung in the air, heavy and quiet, as if they were something fragile. “am i wrong?” he asked finally, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced that he could be.

“for a baseball guy you're quite the poet.”

“that's not an answer.”

“i didn't mean to answer.”

“well?”

“well what?”

“am i?”

“you're not wrong. but music is just something.. i adore. like everyone else! that's all that there is to it.” she pursed her lips, getting up with the wooden bowl that was once full of japchae, to walk to the stall again and hand it to the man with a smile. seungmin followed shortly after, feeling slightly curious but he shook it off.

“seungmin!” she called out. “come on!”

then they were on the street again. she walked slightly ahead, her steps light and playful, occasionally skipping over cracks in the sidewalk. seungmin followed at a slower, more measured pace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“so,” she said, turning her head slightly to glance at him with a bright smile. “since we’re walking and have time, i think we should play twenty questions.”

he raised an eyebrow. “that’s a dangerous game.”

“not if you answer honestly,” she replied with a shrug, her grin widening. “come on, it’ll be fun. i’ll start. what’s your favorite color?”

he paused, thinking. “blue, i guess.”

“safe choice,” she teased. “very original.”

he rolled his eyes. “alright, my turn. why are you always so upbeat?”

“hey, that’s not a yes-or-no question!” she protested, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“neither is ‘what’s your favorite color,’” he pointed out, smirking.

she huffed, crossing her arms as she walked. “fine. i guess i’m just naturally optimistic? or maybe i just don’t see the point in being gloomy all the time. life’s too short to be grumpy.”

“are you calling me grumpy?” he asked, his tone mock-offended.

“well, you are kind of the poster child for ‘brooding baseball guy,’” she quipped, flashing him a cheeky smile.

he let out a short laugh. “i’m not brooding.”

“sure you’re not,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “alright, your turn again.”

he glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. “what made you want to work at the library?”

she tilted her head, thinking. “well, i’ve always loved books. and libraries are… peaceful, you know? there’s something magical about being surrounded by so many stories. plus, it’s a good excuse to read a lot while getting paid for it.”

“that makes sense,” he said, nodding. “what’s your favorite book, then?”

“oh, that’s impossible to answer!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “there are too many. but if i had to pick.. maybe white nights. classic, romantic, sad. it’s got everything.”

“romantic, hm?” he teased, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

she shot him a look. “don’t make fun of me! it’s a great book.”

“i’m not making fun,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “i just didn’t take you for a romantic. or someone who liked reading sad love stories.”

“well you'll be surprised,” she said. “i like reading everything. it's art. whether sad, or happy, or anything else.”

he noticed the shift in her tone and decided not to press further. instead, he changed the subject. “alright, my turn again. what’s something most people don’t know about you?”

she thought for a moment, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “i have a terrible sense of direction. like, really bad. if i didn’t have my phone, i’d probably get lost on my way home.”

he snorted. “good to know. i’ll make sure to never follow you if we’re lost.”

“rude,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him. “my turn. same question. what’s something most people don’t know about you?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “well, most people don’t know that i’ve always wanted a pet, like a dog. a big one. like, a golden retriever or something.” he chuckled softly at the thought. “my friends say i resemble a dog. but can't put up with one. i guess it’s kind of random, but i don’t know. i’ve always imagined having a dog, like, after i’m out of school, you know? just someone to come home to, someone who’s always excited to see me.”

he paused, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “but i never really had the chance to get one, with school and everything. plus, i’m always busy with baseball or music, and i feel like i’d end up neglecting it. so… it’s one of those things that kind of stayed on the back burner.”

she had been watching him intently, her gaze fixed on him for a moment longer than usual. he didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his own thoughts.

“hmm,” she said, breaking the silence with a light laugh. “you’d be a good pup owner, i think. you seem like the type.”

he raised an eyebrow at her, the mischievous grin returning. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

she just shrugged, her lips curling into a smile. “nothing, just.. you’ve got this calm about you. i don’t know. you’d probably spoil it.”

his grin widened, but he didn’t reply right away. instead, he sat back and looked up at the sky, clearly lost in his own thoughts for a moment.

“i see it though.”

he raises an eyebrow.

“the resemblance of you, physically, and in another way, to a dog.” she spoke, her gaze tracing his features. “you might seem mysterious to a stranger, and me, sadly, but i get a feeling you're really happy and playful around people you're close with.”

“and as for physically, when you walk like this, your hair jumps and it actually looks like puppy ears. overall your face, especially with that wide smile that you try to avoid in front of me,” she laughed, “makes you seem more like a dog. playful. familiar. friendly.. and comforting.”

he stared at her, stunned into silence for a moment. her words had caught him completely off guard, and he wasn’t sure how to respond. finally, he let out a laugh—soft, genuine, and a little disbelieving.

“well, that’s… definitely not what i expected to hear today,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a faint flush creeping up his cheeks. “i don’t know if i should be offended or flattered.”

“flattered,” she replied without missing a beat, a playful glint in her eyes. “dogs are great!”

“i can’t believe you just compared me to a dog. you’re really out here calling me mysterious and playful in the same sentence.”

“it’s true, though,” she insisted, crossing her arms with a smug grin. “i’m pretty good at reading people.”

“clearly,” he said, his tone teasing, though there was a warmth in his gaze as he looked at her. then, after a pause, he added, “you know, no one’s ever said anything like that about me before. it’s.. weirdly nice to hear.”

she tilted her head, her smile softening. “you’re welcome.”

he chuckled again, shaking his head. “alright, since you’re so good at reading people, what does that make you?”

her eyes lit up at the challenge, but she hesitated for a moment, her expression growing thoughtful. “hmm.. i guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself,” she said with a sly smile, leaving him to wonder as she walked further and quicker, the conversation still lingering between them.

they walked in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly. the quiet of the town felt almost intimate, like they were the only two people in the world.

“where are we going?” he finally asked, watching as she spun around to face him briefly, walking backward with an impish grin.

“you’ll see,” she replied, her voice sing-song. “it’s a surprise.”

“i don’t like surprises,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“well, you’ll like this one,” she countered, skipping ahead. “trust me.”

the library loomed ahead, its lights dimmed, the glass doors reflecting the moonlight. seungmin frowned. “wait. isn’t the library closed?”

“of course, it is,” she said casually, fishing a key out of her pocket. “but i work here, remember?”

“that doesn’t sound very legal, miss librarian.”

she laughed softly, “relax, mr. rule follower. felix closed up about half an hour ago, and i have permission to be here after hours. perks of the job.”

“okay,” she said, breaking the silence. “last question before we get there. what’s your happiest memory?”

he looked at her, caught off guard by the question. “happiest memory? that’s a tough one.”

“well, think about it,” she urged, her voice soft but insistent. “it doesn’t have to be big. just something that made you really happy.”

he thought for a moment, his gaze distant. “probably my first baseball game as a kid. my dad and grandpa took me. i remember the crowd, the excitement, the smell of popcorn. it was perfect.”

she smiled warmly. “that sounds amazing. thanks for sharing.”

he glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “what about you? what’s your happiest memory?”

she paused, her steps slowing. “probably… baking cookies with my mom when i was little. she’d let me lick the spoon, and we’d make such a mess, but it was always so much fun.”

her voice had taken on a wistful tone, and he found himself studying her face, the way her eyes softened with the memory.

“you’re really close to your mom, huh?” he asked gently.

“yeah,” she said softly, her smile bittersweet, as she didn't say more.

before he could say anything else, she stopped abruptly and turned to him with a grin. “we’re here.”

he looked up, realizing they had arrived at the library. the sight of it felt almost surreal in the quiet of the night.

“come on,” she said, pulling out her key and unlocking the door. “i’ve got something to show you.”

he followed her inside, the familiar scent of books and polished wood enveloping them. the quiet was even deeper now, the kind of silence that felt sacred. she flipped on a small desk lamp near the entrance, its warm glow casting long shadows across the shelves.

“you said you write and like literature, right? so what made you start writing in the first place?” seungmin asks her.

she paused mid-step as they walked through the library aisle, the soft glow of her phone flashlight illuminating the dust particles that floated lazily in the air. she turned her head to glance at seungmin, her expression thoughtful, as if the question had unlocked a memory she hadn’t revisited in a while.

“wow,” she said, breaking into a small smile, “that’s a deep question. you’re really pulling out the big guns tonight.”

seungmin leaned casually against the nearest bookshelf, crossing his arms with a faint smirk. “what can i say? i’m curious. you seem like the type who’d have a good story behind it.”

“flattery will get you nowhere,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. but then her expression softened as she considered his question more seriously. “i guess… it all started when i was little. mum loved stories. she’d always read to me before bed—fairy tales, myths, even poems sometimes. and she’d make up her own stories too, ones that no one else could tell like she did.”

seungmin nodded, his gaze steady on her as she spoke. he didn’t interrupt, sensing there was more to this than just bedtime stories.

“she had this way of making the ordinary feel magical,” she continued, her voice quieter now, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. “when i was about seven, i remember her telling me that everyone has a story worth sharing. that stuck with me. writing became my way of… i don’t know, capturing moments, feelings, the things i was afraid i’d forget.”

there was a brief silence, the kind that felt heavy but not uncomfortable. seungmin tilted his head slightly, his voice softer than usual. “and you still feel that way. that everyone has a story.”

she turned to him fully, her lips curving into a small, sincere smile. “yeah, i do. even if someone thinks their life is boring or unimportant, there’s always something unique about how they see the world. i think that’s worth writing down.”

his expression shifted slightly, his usual neutral demeanor replaced with something warmer, more introspective. “that’s… a nice way to look at it.”

she chuckled lightly, breaking the intensity of the moment. “you sound surprised.”

“i’m not,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “it just makes sense. it sounds like you.”

she blinked, taken aback for a second, before a faint flush crept up her cheeks. “well, thanks, i guess. so, mr. musician slash baseball guy, your turn. what made you pick up the guitar?” she said, still walking around the dark library, slowly, as he followed behind.

seungmin shifted his weight, suddenly looking a little sheepish. “honestly? i think it started because i wanted to impress someone.”

she raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “oh? do tell.”

he let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “it’s not that exciting. back in middle school, i had this.. huge crush on someone. she played piano, and i thought maybe if i learned guitar, we could do some duet thing.”

she burst into laughter, the sound light and infectious. “that’s so cute! did it work?”

“not at all,” he admitted, his own laugh mingling with hers. “i was terrible back then. and she moved schools before i even got the courage to play in front of her.”

she grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “well, at least you stuck with it. now you’re here, a brooding baseball player with a secret musical side. very intriguing.”

“brooding again?” he teased, narrowing his eyes at her playfully.

“hey, it’s your aesthetic,” she said with a mock-serious shrug. “don’t fight it.”

they both laughed, the sound echoing softly through the quiet library. after a moment, she nudged his arm. “but seriously, i think it’s cool that you play. even if you started for, uh, questionable reasons.”

“questionable?” he repeated, pretending to be offended.

“okay, fine, romantic reasons,” she corrected, grinning. “but you must’ve kept playing for more than just that, right?”

he hesitated, looking down at the worn wooden floor beneath them. “yeah. after a while, it stopped being about anyone else. i started to enjoy it for what it was. there’s something calming about it, you know? like it’s just you and the music.”

her smile softened, her voice gentle. “i get that. music has a way of making everything else disappear, even if it’s just for a little while.”

her back and his chest collided suddenly, when she paused her footsteps to look around. their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged with an unspoken understanding. then she cleared her throat, breaking the moment with a grin. “alright, enough with the deep talk. we’re here.”

she gestured to a row of shelves, her excitement bubbling up again. seungmin watched as she reached up, pulling down a few old, dusty books and placing them on a nearby table, after turning the lights on.

“these,” she said, running her fingers over the faded covers, “belonged to my mom. she loved music almost as much as she loved literature.”

he approached the table, his curiosity evident as he looked at the books. “why are you showing me this?”

“because,” she said, her tone soft but earnest, “you’re still learning, right? these might help. and i don’t know, it just felt right to share them with you.”

seungmin glanced at her, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “bold of you to assume i'm gonna take something that belongs to someone who has more passion for music than i do.”

“bold of you to assume i'm letting you leave without it.”

she smiled, softly. “these books, seungmin, helped her a lot. now, it's no use to her because she's learnt all from them. so, giving this to you seems as the best option, especially when compared to letting them catch dust in these shelves.”

seungmin picked up one of the books, flipping through the yellowed pages. the notes in the margins and the slight creases on the edges gave it a sense of history. he hesitated, then glanced back at her. “you know, you make it sound like this is some kind of inheritance or something. like i’m supposed to treat this like a family heirloom.”

she chuckled lightly. “well, maybe it is, in a way. but if anyone’s going to appreciate it, i figured it’d be you.”

he tilted his head, giving her a curious look. “why me? there are probably a hundred other people who’d jump at the chance to take something like this. people who might actually deserve it.”

her gaze softened as she met his eyes. “because you care,” she said simply. “even if you try to hide it, i can see it. music means something to you. and i think that’s enough of a reason.”

he looked at her for a moment, the words sinking in. then, with a small smirk, he set the book back on the table. “you’re really good at guilt-tripping, you know that?”

“it’s not guilt-tripping!” she said, crossing her arms with a playful smile. “it’s… persuasion.”

seungmin let out a breath, shaking his head in amusement. “fine. but only if you let me return them when i’m done. deal?”

“deal,” she said, her smile widening. “but i don’t think you’ll want to give them back. just saying.”

he laughed, picking up the book again and tucking it under his arm. “you really don’t let people argue with you, do you?”

“not when i know i’m right,” she quipped, earning a small shake of his head and a smile as he started for the door.

“hey,” he softly reached out, “thank you.”

she turned to him, her grin returning. “you’re welcome. but you owe me now.”

he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “what do i owe you?”

“hmmm,” she pretended to think. “how about.. a song? once you learn something new from these books, you have to play it for me.”

his lips quirked up in a small, reluctant smile. “deal.”

seungmin carried the stack of books they’d borrowed from the library, his expression as neutral as ever, but there was an unmistakable warmth to his presence. she walked beside him, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her usual smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“thanks for helping me with the books,” she said, glancing sideways at him.

“no problem,” he replied casually. then, after a beat, he smirked. “i mean, it’s only fair since you’re sharing your mom’s secret stash with me.”

she chuckled, bumping her shoulder lightly against his. “it’s not really a ‘secret stash.’ it’s just stuff that mattered to her. stuff that matters to me.”

he looked at her, his gaze softer now. “that’s what makes it important.”

her steps faltered slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. she recovered quickly, brushing it off with a small laugh. “look at you, mr. philosophical. spending time with me is really rubbing off on you, huh?”

“i think i deserve some credit,” he teased. “i was already pretty deep before.”

“sure,” she said with exaggerated skepticism. “if by ‘deep,’ you mean good at dodging questions about yourself.”

“i answer questions,” he defended, raising an eyebrow at her.

“uh-huh,” she shot back, grinning. “vague answers don’t count.”

their banter was interrupted by the sound of excited chatter. up ahead, near an open lot, a group of kids and a few elderly folks were gathered, their laughter mingling with the occasional crackle of fireworks. sparklers lit up the night, little bursts of light spinning in the hands of children as they ran around, their faces glowing with pure joy.

she slowed her pace, her eyes lighting up as she took in the scene. “oh, that looks so fun.”

“really?” seungmin asked, raising an eyebrow as he followed her gaze. “it’s just sparklers.”

“just sparklers?” she echoed, feigning offense. “excuse me, but sparklers are the most magical thing ever. you clearly don’t understand their charm.”

before he could respond, one of the kids noticed them and waved enthusiastically. “noona! hyung! do you want to play with us?”

her face broke into a wide grin. “of course! seungmin, come on!”

he hesitated, looking a little awkward. “i don’t think—”

“don’t think, just come,” she interrupted, grabbing his wrist and pulling him toward the group. he stumbled slightly but didn’t resist, letting her drag him along.

the kids and elders greeted them warmly, handing them sparklers and showing them where to place their books and bags safely away from the fireworks. y/n immediately lit her sparkler, holding it up and twirling it around with a delighted laugh.

“see?” she said, looking over at seungmin. “magic.”

he couldn’t help but smile at her, even as he reluctantly lit his own sparkler. “if you say so.”

“come on, you have to at least try to have fun,” she teased, stepping closer to him. “look, like this.” she moved her arm in a sweeping motion, drawing a glowing pattern in the air with her sparkler. “isn’t it pretty?”

he watched her, his sparkler momentarily forgotten in his hand. the orange-golden light reflected in her eyes, her face alight with joy. she looked so completely in her element, like the world around her had faded away, and she was just… glowing.

“you’re staring,” one of the elders said suddenly, catching him off guard. his tone was teasing, and his cheeks flushed as he was caught.

“a-ah sorry. i wasn’t,” he lied, quickly focusing on his sparkler. “i was just lost.. in thought!”

“you seem to have feelings for her, don't you?” the ahjussi asked.

“we're just friends.”

“that's what they all say, kid,” the ahjussi laughed, “and that's what i said when i met her, too.” he pointed towards a lady of the same age as him. “she was, is, and always will be everything to me.”

seungmin only glanced between them, gaze softening, and the moment being interrupted by y/n's voice.

“seungmin!” she called, giggling with the kids, “look! we fused all the colors of all the sparklers together and it made a rainbow!”

seungmin could only stare at her with a smile.

“good luck, kid.”

one of the kids ran up to them, holding out a small box of colorful sparklers. “noona, hyung! these ones make a big circle when you spin them really fast!”

y/n took one eagerly, thanking the child before lighting it and spinning it around. she let out a delighted laugh as it created a bright, shimmering circle in the air. “seungmin, try it!”

he took one reluctantly, lighting it and attempting the same motion. his first try was clumsy, earning a giggle from her.

“okay, that was terrible,” she said, stepping closer. “here, let me show you.”

before he could protest, she reached out, her hand brushing against his as she guided his arm. “like this,” she said, her voice softer now. the proximity between them suddenly felt charged, the air around them growing quieter despite the noise of the sparklers and laughter.

he followed her lead, their hands moving together in a smooth arc. the sparkler drew a perfect circle in the air, its light casting a warm glow over their faces.

“there,” she said, her smile bright and triumphant. “much better.”

“thanks to you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

their eyes met for a moment, the sparkler’s glow reflecting in both their gazes. it was one of those moments where time seemed to slow, the world around them fading into the background.

then, one of the kids yelled, “noona, hyung! look at this!” breaking the spell. she stepped back, laughing nervously as she turned to watch the child show off their new sparkler trick.

seungmin exhaled softly, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched her. even in the chaos of sparklers and children’s laughter, she was like a beacon of light, drawing everyone—and him—toward her.

as the night wore on, they stayed with the group, laughing, playing, and creating memories under the starry sky. and though neither of them said it out loud, they both knew this evening would stay with them for a long, long time.

and maybe, just maybe, something shifted in the quiet corners of both their hearts that night.

taglists ୨୧ (mt) @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @woozarts (st) @vixensss @miyeonna

!! please let me know under this chapter post, or this one, if i forgot you in the taglist, my inactivity made me lose track, i'm really sorry !!

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katsukikisses · 6 months ago

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birds of a feather: chapter two [hawks x reader]

chapter summary: keigo invites you over for the first time and lets you check out his wing-keeping kit. in the process, you learn a few things about his world.

chapter tags: childhood friends; neighbors trope; alternating povs; taking care of keigo's wings as a love language.

cw: prejudice; socioeconomic differences?

prefer to read on ao3? here!

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“'Do not enter' is written on the door way, Why can't everyone just go away? Except you, you can stay, — Alex G, Treehouse

The first time Keigo invited you over, you were ecstatic.

The invite in itself was long overdue: the two of you had been friends for a year and neighbors for nearly two, so the fact that you’d never once stepped foot in his house during that period seemed like an intentional oversight. You didn’t mind always hanging out at yours’ (rather, you quite liked having Keigo inside your house), but you were insatiably curious about how your hybrid friend lived. You wanted to know what color his bedsheets were, what kind of cereal lined his pantry—everything there was to know about a person, really.

However, your parents always told you that inviting yourself over was very rude, so you never pushed. You figured there was a reason for his hesitance and eventually stopped asking “ Your place or mine? ” on the walk home from school, letting your house become the default hang-out spot. That’s why, when, on a gray, inconspicuous Tuesday, Keigo asked if you’d like to come over, you were completely caught off guard.

“Wha—?” you sputtered, suddenly having lost the ability to form sentences, “Me, over? House?”

Keigo looked pleased at the state you’d been reduced to. “Yes, you-over-house,” he mocked, “We can even us-play-video games.”

“Shut up,” you reddened. “I’m just surprised since we usually go to mine. B-but I don’t mind going to yours at all! Let’s hurry.”

You shifted your backpack higher up on your shoulders and began speed-walking down the street, leaving Keigo behind you. You didn’t want to give him the time to change his mind. The blonde snorted, but quickened his pace to match yours.

Soon, the two of you made it to your street. You took a brief moment to dash inside your own house and yell that you were going to Keigo’s—eliciting surprised Okays from your parents—before dashing back across the street to Keigo’s side. Laughing at your eagerness, he unlatched the front door and entered, leaving you to follow.

Your first impression of the Takami household was that it was similar to yours: staircase left of the foyer, living room connected to the kitchen. The similarities were to be expected, given that your houses were most likely built by the same construction company—but that was where they ended. Unlike your house, which your mother kept fastidiously white and empty, Keigo’s was full of life. The walls were painted a pretty sage green, and lined with pictures of Keigo, his mother, and an older couple you assumed were his grandparents. The windowsills were also filled with all sorts of plants and herbs, adding a welcome splash of color to the room. It was a stark contrast to the sad, blank interior of your own abode—Keigo’s house had character .

“I know it’s not as nice as yours,” Keigo apologized as he watched you take in your surroundings. “My mom insists on keeping all these dumb plants and—”

“Keigo, I love your house!” you exclaimed, cutting him off. “It’s so much prettier compared to mine. I wish Mom would let us paint our walls or keep plants, but apparently Architectural Digest says that’s not Beige Chic , or whatever.”

Keigo smiled. He knew he shouldn’t have doubted your reaction. “Okay, well once you’re done admiring my pretty house, come upstairs so I can beat you at Mario Kart.”

Your eyes flashed excitedly, immediately leaving the picture you were inspecting to follow after Keigo. “Sure you will. Hey, remind me again who’s the reigning champion?”

The blonde gave you an irritated look, but before he could retort, you were pushing past him up the stairs and into his bedroom. This was what you’d been most curious about on your walk back, and you couldn’t wait any longer to see it. Ignoring Keigo’s words of protest, you opened the door.

“Wow,” you blinked at the sight. “It’s very…angry.”

You didn’t know what you’d been expecting, but it hadn’t been… this . Keigo’s bedroom was practically devoid of anything except for Endeavor , his favorite superhero. The walls were plastered with posters of the flame hero, and a row of his figurines lined Keigo’s desk. Atop his twin-sized bed sat a small Endeavor stuffie, which smoldered at you menacingly from across the room.

You spun around to face your friend. “Keigo, I didn’t you were a fanboy!”

In the doorway of his room, Keigo flushed a red that rivaled his plumage.

“It’s not—I’m not a fanboy ,” he sputtered, “I just happen to like the show! And they always have a lot of his merch at the thrift and—you know what, I don’t need to explain myself to you. Just sit down.”

Laughing, you took a seat on the carpet and faced his XBox. “Whatever you say, fanboy .”

Keigo valiantly ignored your comment and began rifling through a box of controllers. You took this time to take in the rest of his room, which, aside from the Endeavor paraphernalia, was completely unassuming. There wasn’t much furniture other than a bed and desk, and what little else Keigo did possess was painted in dull shades of grey. The only splash of color was the green sweater he’d been wearing yesterday, now stuffed haphazardly into his drawers. Your eyes lazily followed the outline of the cabinet, until they reached the small box resting atop it.

“What’s that?” you pointed to the box curiously.

Keigo looked up from where he’d been setting up the XBox—an ancient thing he and his mom had scored at Goodwill—and spotted what you were pointing at. “Oh, that’s my wing-keeping kit.”

“Wing-keeping?”

“Yeah,” he shifted his wings, letting them catch rays from the window. The red plumes gleamed like rubies. “You didn’t think they were naturally like this, did you? This kind of exquisiteness requires serious upkeep, YN”

“Oh,” you said dumbly. The sight of Keigo’s feathers fluttering was nothing short of mesmerizing, and, for some reason, you liked that he was showing off to you. “Can I see the tools?”

The words left your mouth before you could think about them. You watched as Keigo’s wings immediately came to a still, and you internally groaned. Here we go.

Over the course of your year-long friendship with Keigo, you’d come to learn a lot about the blonde. You knew that he liked superhero shows (specifically Endeavor: Legend of the Flame) and that his favorite subject was History. He could run a 7-minute mile—the fastest out of all the fourth-grade boys—and was a fiend for fried chicken. You knew that, despite being relatively popular, he didn’t really like the other kids at school, and you were probably the closest thing to a best friend that he had. And most importantly, you knew to never, ever talk about hybrids around him.

At first, you figured he was just annoyed by your questions. As the only hybrid in your class, Keigo was constantly being probed by your classmates about his wings or eye markings. He’d never ignore them, of course, always answering their queries good-naturedly—but the tight-lipped smile he wore during those interactions betrayed his agitation. As your friendship progressed and you interacted more frequently with the blonde, though, you realized it wasn’t just questions about himself that irritated Keigo—it was whenever humans talked about hybrids at all. The week your class covered Japan’s history of hybrid discrimination, Keigo had resolutely faced the window and didn’t take a single note; and whenever Endeavor fought a hybrid villain on screen, Keigo huffed and asked to skip the episode. Little incidents like those deterred you from asking any questions related to his bird appendages, and even more from inquiring about the reason behind his anger.

Thus, you’d gone an entire year avoiding discussing anything hybrid-related with him. You figured that, as with him not inviting you in, he’d eventually get over it—you were sitting in his room right now, weren’t you? Plus, he couldn’t hate humans altogether if he was friends with you. There must be a logical reason behind his behavior, you reasoned.

Except, you’d blown any chance of that happening, now that you opened your big fat mouth and asked about his wings. And the first time he invited me over, too, you bemoaned internally. You’d at least wanted to see the kitchen before you got kicked out!

“Um, sorry,” you backtracked, “I don’t know why I asked that. It’s personal, I know—sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Keigo replied, equally hesitant. He took a deep breath as if preparing himself for a daunting task. “Um, if you really want to see, I can show you. The tools, I mean.”

Your jaw nearly fell to the ground. “Really? I can see?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal,” he said, sounding as though it were absolutely a big deal. He walked over to his cabinet and swiped the kit off the top. You watched, disbelieving, as he made his way back to you and deposited it unceremoniously in your lap.

The first thing you registered about the kit was that it was heavy—heavier than it looked. It was constructed of smooth wood paneling and about the size of a book, with no indication of what resided within it save for a small feather engraved on the top, and perhaps the faint smell of essential oils emitting from it Your fingers fluttered over the ridges of the box, and, with one final seeking glance at Keigo, you lifted the lid off the top.

As the smell suggested, the inside of the kit was lined with various vials of oil, each labeled something different. Laying next to the oils, their sharp edges cushioned by the velvet interior, was a collection of tools: shears of various sizes as well as several brushes and clippers. They glinted menacingly in the afternoon light, causing you to reign in a shudder; you couldn’t imagine using tools like that on your own body.

Keigo watched your expression carefully. “I have to trim and condition my feathers about every two weeks,” he explained, “Or else they’ll get tangled and torn.”

“I didn’t realize they required so much attention,” you tore your gaze away from the box and faced him. And, for the second time that day, your mouth moved before your brain. “Can you show me? How you do it?”

“…Sure,” he said after a momentary pause, looking faintly bemused. “It’s been a while since I last trimmed them, anyway.”

He began picking out various tools and oils from the box. You leaned forward, eager to see which ones he chose. When it came to Keigo, it was like you could never know enough.

He lined the three oils he’d grabbed—labeled “primaries”, “secondaries”, and “contour”, respectively—on the floor. “The different oils are for different parts of my wings,” he said, extending out his left wing as he spoke. “My primary feathers are these long feathers out here, and the inner ones are called secondaries. And these are my contour feathers, which make me more aerodynamic—they help me fly better, basically,” he amended, noticing your blank stare. “But before I do that, I have to trim them.”

As he finished his explanation, he removed a large tablecloth from the bottom of the kit and unfolded it on the floor. He picked up one of the shears he’d taken out earlier and began trimming off the edges of his wings. Red tufts fluttered to the floor, like autumn leaves shaken out of a tree. You stared, enthralled, before his earlier words registered in your mind.

“Wait, fly? I thought you weren’t…allowed to,” you trailed off, realizing you were approaching dangerous territory. Hybrid Limitations were one of the most contentious topics in Japan, and you figured that Keigo, as an avian hybrid, would have his share of thoughts on it.

Instead of becoming upset, though, he merely shook his head. “I’m not,” he confirmed. His words were punctuated by the steady snip of shears coming down around another feather. “This kit was passed down to me from my grandfather, and during his time there weren’t restrictions on winged hybrids. So it still contains flight-care stuff.”

“Oh,” you said, “Do you wish you could fly?”

Keigo peered at you through the folds of his wing. Randomly, you were struck by the memory of the first time he came to your house; cold and wet, focused on drying off his wings while you chattered annoyingly at him.

“Maybe,” he set down the shears and picked up one of the vials of oil. Surprised, you realized he was already done with trimming. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get to, though.”

Keigo gave his wings a firm ruffle, shaking off any lingering feather trimmings. Then, he poured a small bit of oil into his palms and began carding them gently through his longest feathers—the primaries, you recalled. You watched in silence as he worked down his wing, coating each plume in a thin layer of oil. Usually when Keigo was focused on something, he had a look of intense concentration on his face: brows pinched, eyes narrowed. Yet, now, his expression was relaxed and peaceful—this must be calming for him.

As he got closer to his inner feathers, though, he had to strain his neck to oil them properly, and his tranquil expression dissolved into a more concentrated one. “My mom usually helps me with the back,” he explained, sounding slightly frustrated, “It’s harder for me to see back there and—”

“I can help you,” you said. Keigo’s hands stilled in his wings, and you wondered a bit too late if your offer had been inappropriate. But you’d already breached all sorts of boundaries today, so what was one more?

Keigo cleared his throat. “Um, sure. Come, uh—come closer.”

“Okay,” you shuffled over to behind him. “Um, what do I…”

“Grab the oil labeled ‘secondaries’.”

“Okay.”

“Pour a little into your hands—yeah, that’s good. And let it heat up a bit in your palms.”

“Okay.”

“Now, you see the feathers at the bottom of my wings? The shorter ones.”

“Yeah.”

“Work the oil into them, from the root to the ends.”

“Okay,” you gulped. Your hands, covered in a sharp-smelling oil, shook as you reached toward the feathers. I have to do this right , you thought determinedly—you couldn’t bear it if you accidentally hurt Keigo.

Slowly, you grabbed the outermost feather and began working the oil into it. If your own hands hadn’t been shaking so badly, you might’ve noticed the way Keigo’s wings shuddered, too.

After you got through the first few feathers without doing any damage—and leaving Keigo content, seemingly—you became more confident in your abilities. Your movements were more fluid, and your shoulders untensed—you could see why your friend found this relaxing.

Once you finished the secondaries, you moved on to the last section: his contour feathers. You picked up the appropriately labeled oil and found that it was much fuller than the other two. Recalling what he said about not being able to fly, you sadly realized that those feathers probably didn’t get as much use as his other ones, therefore needing less maintenance. With newfound vigor, you uncapped the vial and poured a generous amount into your palms.

“I hope,” you began, “That you get a lot of use out of this oil one day.”

“I hope not,” Keigo replied, “That’s the most expensive one.”

(He knew what you meant, though.)

It was rare for Takami Toomie to see her house during the day.

Well, it was nearing evening, technically, but sunlight was sunlight. Between her job at the restaurant, the hospital, and…the other one, she’d practically become a vampire—she couldn’t remember the last time she came home before midnight. But today all the stars had aligned perfectly: her coworker had agreed to cover her shift, the hospital hadn’t called her in, and—best of all—the fried chicken ordered from their restaurant never got picked up, leaving it up for grabs.

Toomie recalled staring at the steaming bucket of chicken for the entire pick-up hour, and then snatching it up as soon as time was up. She’d flushed when her coworkers saw her shove the food into her bag, but their judgment would be nothing compared to the joy of seeing Keigo smile—something that happened too infrequently for Toomie’s liking. Though, it's not exactly like I encourage him to be more carefree...

Shaking off her guilt, Tookie pushed through the front door of her home. She smiled at the sight of rays filtering in through the window and meandered over to the kitchen, where she set down the bucket. A glance at the clock told her that Keigo was already back at school, and her smile widened. They could eat together!

She grabbed her phone from her bag and began searching for the LNs contact. She assumed Keigo was with them, considering he slept over practically every day now. It was a development she tried not to be too bothered by, as she knew it was lonely for him here. Still, she couldn’t help but be wary of the situation. YN seemed like a sweet kid, on the few occasions she’d met them, but one could never be sure…

She sighed as finally found the contact. Keigo would be a little upset at being called back early, she figured, but his disappointment would definitely disappear as soon as he saw the chicken. Plus, the two of them hadn’t had dinner together in forever. Reaffirmed in her decision, Toomie made to hit Call on the contact—but just as her finger was about to tap the screen, she heard the faintest sounds of conversation emanating from upstairs.

Toomie paused. It sounded like two kids...did Keigo have a friend over? Curiously, she made her way to the stairwell and strained to listen, wings shifting nervously behind her. Keigo never told her that he was bringing someone over, and he wasn’t the type to sneak around behind her back, either. Immediately, terrible thoughts filled her head. What if someone had followed Keigo home and they were hurting him upstairs? Or what if someone had broken in and were robbing them? Panicked, she dropped her phone and sprinted up the stairs, wings flapping madly behind her. They ached from disuse, but she didn’t even register the pain. Her only thoughts were Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.

She threw open his bedroom door, and the sight that greeted her was more horrible than any robbery or bullying. Keigo was sitting on the floor, wings spread out to their maximum length, while you kneeled behind him, gently carding oil through his inner-most feathers. Next to you was Keigo’s wing-keeping kit—a gift from his grandfather, her father —with various tools and vials spilling out of it. Everything was out in the open for you to see.

At the sound of the door hitting the wall, Keigo turned around. “Mom?” his eyes widened. “When did you get back?”

“Just now,” she replied, her eyes flitting between the two of you. “You didn’t tell me you were having guests over, Keigo.”

Hearing this, you sheepishly stood and bowed to her. Your hands, still covered in oil, hung awkwardly in the hair.

“I’m sorry for coming over uninvited, Takami-san,” you apologized, “I should’ve had my parents call you.”

At the sight of your nervousness, Toomie’s agitation subsided. “It’s alright, YN-chan,” she said, attempting a kind tone. But her day had been long and she’d worked the night shift beforehand and—she just wanted to have dinner with her son. “I’m just surprised, is all. Plus, it’s Keigo who should’ve said something.”

She turned her attention back to her son. “You need to tell me when you have hu—people over, Kei.”

She barely managed to cover her slip-up. Keigo raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

“Well, I didn’t know you were even going to see them, since you don’t usually get back until later. Why are you back this early anyway?”

Toomie groaned internally. Wasn’t he a little young for the rebellious stage? “I got off work early,” she said tightly, “And I thought we could have dinner toge—”

“Is that chicken?” Keigo cut her off, finally registering the mouth-watering smell wafting from the kitchen. His wings, freshly clipped and conditioned, raised excitedly. Toomie couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Oh, well then I should probably go,” you said awkwardly, wiping your oil-covered hands off on your school uniform. Toomie wished she could’ve told you to not do that, as wing-keeping oils were notoriously difficult to get out of clothes—your skirt would permanently have greasy handprints on them now. But before she could say something, you were nimbly sliding past her in the doorway and into the hall.

“Please enjoy your dinner!” you smiled at the two of them.

Keigo jumped up from his spot on the floor and ran after you. “Wait, YN,” he said, “Don’t go yet.”

He glanced briefly at his mother, asking her an unspoken question. But the woman was looking at you, still wringing your hands awkwardly in the hallway.

Toomie exhaled softly through her nose. After all those free dinners they gave Keigo, she thought miserably, Practically every day of the year…how could I even come close to repaying them?

“Yes, YN-chan, we would love for you stay for dinner,” she lied, “Do you like fried chicken?”

Your eyes practically sparkled as you thanked her excitedly, assuring her that, yes, you loved fried chicken. As the three of you made your way down the stairs, Keigo pulling you by the wrist, Toomie couldn’t help but mourn her lost dinner. The bucket was a share-size, yet with how much Keigo ate, he could probably put away the entire thing—it had been a stretch for the two of them to share, much less three people. Looks like you and Keigo would be enjoying an adult-free dinner, tonight. Toomie sighed, resigning herself to a trip to the konbini. She’d refrained from snacking on kitchen scraps and sent-back meals as she usually did during her shift, not wanting to spoil her appetite, and this was what she got. Honestly, with her evening plans now canceled, she might just head back to work—clearly, she could use the extra money.

Toomie watched as Keigo tugged you into the kitchen and began pulling plates and silverware out of the drawers. She wondered how she could gracefully bow out of the dinner—kids didn’t really think too hard about those sorts of interactions, but she also didn’t want you to report back to your parents that Toomie didn’t bother spending any time with you. She was already going to be the mom who brought back a bucket of fried chicken as dinner, for God’s sake.

Still ruminating over her dilemma, Toomie didn’t notice you seemingly lost in your own thoughts. Even as Keigo set the dinner table—for three people, the little idealist—you remained standing, simply staring at the bucket.

“Actually, Keigo-kun, Takami-san,” you started, spinning around to face them, “I have a good idea! My parents are having yakisoba tonight, along with some other vegetables. Fried chicken goes great with yakisoba, doesn’t it? We should take it over to my house and eat together! My mom’s always asking you to come over anyways, Takami-san.”

You finished with a bright grin on your face. Toomie only blinked in response.

(Perhaps you deserved a little more credit than she gave you.)

“That’s really nice of you to offer, dear. I think we’ll take you up on that.” Toomie managed. From across the kitchen, Keigo gaped at her—she knew he’d expected her to decline. “You’re too kind, YN-chan.”

You, too, seemed shocked that Toomie actually accepted—a deserved reaction, considering the amount of times she’d turned down your family’s invitations in the past. But you recovered quickly, your blinding grin overtaking your face once more.

“It’s my pleasure,” you said brightly. You picked up the bucket of chicken and started out the door, suddenly heading the whole operation. “I hope we can eat before the sun sets!”

Keigo hurriedly shoved the plates back into the drawers and dashed after you, calling for you to wait for him. Toomie smiled at the sight, before sighing again and walking over to the fridge. She began rifling through its contents—some leftovers from work, a pack of expired beer—in hopes of dredging up a side dish. Impromptu as this dinner was, she couldn’t be so pathetic as to only show up with cold fried chicken.

Yet, even as Toomie peered into her frighteningly empty fridge, she couldn’t help but feel content with the outcome of her evening. Absolutely nothing about it had gone to plan—but Keigo was smiling, wasn’t he?

Maybe YN would be good for them, Toomie admitted.

Next Chapter (

author's note: Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'm sorry it took so long to come out. This chapter explores more of Keigo's life since the first chapter was very reader-focused, but Toomie's also able to give us an outsider's perspective on YN. I think due to having very present and communicative parents she's become emotionally intelligent at a young age (which I see in a lot of the kids at the private school I work at lol); however, a lot of the practical application still depends on socializing with kids her age and besides Keigo she doesn't have a lot of practice with that…but we'll see more in the coming chapters 🫣🫣

Thanks for reading and I can't wait to see you guys in the next chapter!

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knightjpg · 2 months ago

Text

landslide | chapter 3

chapter tags: (light) stalking, alcohol/alcohol consumption, reader has a toxic boyfriend

prev | next

Just the one time.

You won't even notice, Ghost reasons to himself. He'll just be another spectre haunting London; a phantom passing through. Just once. Just to see—

To soothe. Yes, that's what it is. He's just fulfilling a final duty, a tribute to the woman who made his brother smile like he'd never seen a day of hardship in his life.

It's not hard to track you down. Years may have gone by, but Ghost has a photo, a name, and a bloodhound's tenacity for sniffing out the details. The anonymous bustle of London loses out against his patience, and really, people are creatures of habit. They seek comfort in the known; in their routine.

Ghost observes yours. From afar, at first—a shadow lurking in alleyways you give a wide berth to. This is good. This is how it's meant to be. We get dirty, Price's voice echoes in his skull. So the world stays—

After a week it gets harder to justify. You're alive and well. Have a steady job and a roof over your head. A boyfriend. You're not rude enough to drunk twats calling after you when get off work, but you clutch the closest thing to pepper spray in your hand after dark.

Smart girl.

It's time to step away. Simon died; a tombstone doesn't fit into the constraints of your daily life. He's let go before. He can—has to—do it again.

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say.”

...

Just—

Just the one time.

Ghost pretends he's doing a stakeout. There's a mission, and there's a target. Simple. Easy. Muscle memory.

When you walk through the café door, bell jingling against the wood, he's supposed to be casual. Uninterested; aloof—just another guy getting his daily fix. He knows he stands out with his bulk, but it's London: who's going to care? No one's going to think twice about his being here. He just has to keep it cool, go through the motions of reading his book without picking up any of the words. Then, naturally, look up—

(sure, honey—)

—and. Fuck. He is so unprepared.

You keep your hair a little shorter these days. Still no ring on your finger—Simon breathes out slow—but a pendant around your neck has taken up a fixed presence. A gift? It's hard to tell.

You're a little older, sure, but you're so—

You're so...

He ducks his head just in time, ballcap throwing his face into shadow to avoid your curious glance. Caught staring. He curses at himself—is he a fucking professional or what?

Your name is called out, and you take your order with a grateful thanks. Ghost chances a peek while you're preoccupied.

Christ. You're so pretty.

Not just pretty—beautiful. Not like how he remembers, but also exactly how he remembers. The way you shift your weight, the quick gesture of your head when you shake the hair out of your face. Your smile, a flash of teeth.

It's a perfect fit. A lost puzzle piece slots into place, lines up a bridge between the past with the present—

“Oh, I'm so glad you're here,” you tell him with a sigh, plopping down heavily in the chair beside him. “If anyone asks me to dance I have a sprained ankle, okay?”

Simon gives you a solemn nod, eyes sliding from the dancefloor to your figure bending down to untie your shoes. Your hair is done up beautifully for today, and he's overcome with the desire to reach out and touch the nape of your neck.

He forces it down and watches Tommy and Beth swaying to a slow song, eyes closed. You sigh, flexing your toes.

“Hurt?” Simon asks.

“Just tired,” you smile. “Beth's cousin are nice, but every time I sit they—oh, God, there's one of them.”

You unsuccessfully try to hide behind Simon's broad shoulders. One of your hands presses against his arm for balance, small imprint of warm through his nicest white blouse.

Simon's heart lurches. He leans into your touch like a lodestone.

“She's got a sprained ankle, mate,” he tells Beth's cousin before he can open his mouth. “Gotta rest.”

The boy swallows a thinly veiled tsk when Simon speaks up, then tries again. “I'm sorry, love, was I too rough on you? Do you want me to get you ice? Or a drink? Or—”

“Got it handled here,” Simon cuts in curtly.

Simon likes Beth. Likes her family fine, too—he and Tommy grew up on a low bar, but still he can see they're alright folk. And Simon would never start shit on their wedding day. He's got better manners than that.

But people get caught up in weddings, spurred on by booze and a festive mood. They grow loose-lipped, handsy, jovial.

Simon's more than happy to put cousin what'shisname in his place should he forget it.

The cousin lingers for a moment, but eventually tucks his tail between his legs and sets off to the drinks bar. Simon eyes his retreat warily.

“Oh,” you sigh, sagging against Simon's back for a moment before pulling yourself upright. “Thanks so much. You're my hero.”

—a wildflower in his barren desertscape.

He'd wondered if it would hurt any more than it does every other day of his life. A living, breathing reminder of everything that he's lost; Ghost is not immune to pain. Even corpses bleed.

He finds it doesn't matter. Whatever he might have felt is drowned out by something else, a lighthouse smacking him in the face with the same blinding light he chased when he crawled out of the dirt—

Familiar. Quickly followed by, mine. Something that earns its intimacy simply by being known; hauntingly so, but he wants it. Wants to have it, wants to allow himself this smidge of nostalgia.

(You're my hero.)

Self-denial pushed to the extreme rebounds off the wall and crashes against him like a wave. Saltwater mixes with old dusty sediment, rips out dead old roots as it pulls him down, a landslide—

And it's trouble. Ghost knows it. But—

He's always had an appetite for the thrill of danger, careful, might get hurt;

and he figures one more scar won't make much of a difference.

----------

The alcohol tastes bitter on your tongue. You swirl the liquid in your glass and wish you could jump into the miniature whirlpool; to simply let the disappointment and the hurt and the insecurity all be washed away.

Your phone beep...beep...beeps until:

“The person you are attempting to call cannot be reached at this time. To leave a message, press—”

You shove it back in your pocket with an angry twist of your mouth. That's four times for this month alone. How many was it last month? And the one before that?

Maybe you should stop counting.

The alcohol does the opposite from soothing your bad mood. You know your limits and steer clear of that line; over the years you've found it's never worth the headache or the nausea the next day.

Another drink and things will start getting fuzzier, which means it's time to call a friend or a cab and leave. Be smart. Be careful.

Your fingers dig into the glass. You stay seated on your stool.

Maybe you should've accepted when a bloke offered you a drink. Sorry, you'd smiled. Waiting for my boyfriend.

Fuck your boyfriend.

The spite sours as soon as it wells up, leaving guilt in its wake. What's wrong with you? You'd never cheat on Dave. You've been the subject of that kind of betrayal too often; know the pain too well. You won't be that kind of person.

You down the last of your drink, just about to get up when a large man wearing a dark hoodie seats himself on the stool next to you.

You pause. It's not busy; there's plenty of empty stools to choose from. Coincidence or a sign of interest? Would it be rude to leave immediately after he's sat down?

Would it be worse to wait for him to say something instead?

Hesitation lies heavily in your stomach, alcohol and loneliness making you feel unsure, slow. The indecision keeps your eyes down on your empty glass while you fiddle with a coaster and tell yourself to stop being so self-absorbed. It doesn't mean anything; it's not about you. People can come to the bar just for a—

“Drink?” the stranger asks you.

Your eyes flit up.

He's wearing a ballcap—go Manchester—which, under the dim lights of the bar, obscures most of his features. Still, you catch the end tail of a nasty scar running down his cheek.

This is where trepidation should come in. A sixth sense of self-preservation telling you in red letters do not touch. Do not go here.

Do not trespass.

But:

something about him is familiar.

Maybe that's why you're less guarded. Less careful. You're lonely, abandoned, stood up; one last drink won't hurt. Will it? Because, really—

It's just a drink, you tell yourself. If he tries anything you'll make a scene.

God knows you've got plenty of pent-up anger to let loose.

“Sure, okay,” you say, and the man waves the bartender over. You watch him pour the drink, and offer the stranger a half-hearted smile as you raise your glass in cheers.

“You alone?”

“I have a boyfriend,” you say, trying for casual nonchalance and ending up somewhere close to abandoned cat on the roadside. There's even a tremor at the end of your voice to go with it.

And you thought tonight wouldn't get any more pathetic.

The man tilts his head. “He gonna come pick y’up?”

You tap your phone's screen out of habit: no notifications. You shake your head. The bar suddenly feels too loud, too sharp; too real. You realise that until now you'd still clung to the idea that Dave's caller ID would pop up any moment, that any second the next face walking into the bar would be his.

It's not going to happen.

You know it's not. But all by yourself you could still believe—lure yourself into the protective delusion that Dave wouldn't stand you up again. Not after missing your anniversary dinner, surely.

Your throat closes against a sob clawing its way up. Christ. You try to wrestle it down, cover your quivering lips with a hand. You're drunk. Drunk and acting like an idiot—

Your stranger does a little hum. “He a twat?”

The delivery is so dry you hiccup a strange laugh-sob. “Some—sometimes. Maybe it's my fault. I don't know what I—” You stop yourself and breathe. Cling to the shred of sobriety left in you. “Sorry. You don't care about any of this.”

The bloke shifts on his stool, turning his torso more towards you and leaning one of his big forearms on the tacky bar as he does. The end of a tattoo sleeve peeks out from his hoodie, abstract lines old and sun-faded.

“Could listen.”

You blink, and—

there's your apartment, your front door, the jingle of keys. Body moving on autopilot, dropping bag and shoes and slumping onto your bed.

Your mind is slow, hazy; muddled by fatigue and cocktails. How'd you get home again?

A flash of obnoxious radio music. The dangle of car freshener against a dark windshield.

That's right. Had one drink too much, and called—

You frown against your sheets. Called...

A low voice in your ear, telling you to mind your feet. Not Dave—bigger than Dave. One strong arm keeping you from wobbling, and the other opening the door to a cab. Smelled nice. Safe. A friend?

“I saw Simon's boots in the hall. Did he stop by?”

“He did. Came to save me from Tommy's hovering.”

You finish pouring Beth's smoothie—thick, fruity, calorie-dense—and hand it to her. She sighs in relief, carefully shifting in her seat so she doesn't jostle Joseph while she's breastfeeding.

“Thanks so much. God,” and she takes a big sip, “that's good. Everyone tells you breastfeeding makes you hungry, but oh my god, it makes you hungry.”

You laugh a little, patting her leg. “You're doing great, mumma.”

“I hope so.” Beth looks down at Joseph, stroking his blond wispy hairs. “We're thinking about moving. Not for a while, but—maybe next year.” Beth gestures to the little flat apartment. “Tommy's been doing really well at work, and we want Joseph to be able to run around in a yard.”

As if summoned, the front door opens and closes. Boots thump against the doormat; the coathanger rattles with the weight of thick padded jackets.

“I think that's a lovely idea,” you smile. “Just let me know and I'll help.”

Beth's face softens. “Thank you.”

She looks exhausted, but extraordinarily happy at the same time. You're so happy for her—so happy for both of them—yet can't help the occasional tug of envy. You're not sure if you want children, not yet, but the look of devotion in Tommy's eyes when he crosses the room to kiss Beth and Joseph's cheeks is hard not to want for yourself.

“Alright?”

You lift your eyes to Simon. He looks freshly windswept from their walk, hair mussed and cheeks ruddy. For some reason it makes you feel—

You duck your head, nodding. “Yeah.”

You suddenly feel a little shy, out of place. To give yourself something to do you collect empty cups to put away—and stumble on one of Joseph's toys lying around.

Simon's arm shoots out to steady you, and in your attempt to balance yourself you bump headfirst into his chest. You quickly remove yourself, cheeks burning.

“Thanks...”

In between dreaming and waking, the memory of a voice murmurs in your ear;

“Steady now.”

----------

Ghost watches the cab drive away with a pensive expression.

You're not happy.

He watched you for over an hour, his pretty lonely girl sipping fruity cocktails at the bar. Waiting for the ungrateful cunt to bother showing up.

Because your boyfriend is an ungrateful cunt, going by the way you nearly cried into his arms. Simon hadn't been privy to the details, lived off second-hand stories from Tommy and sometimes Beth, and there's too many gaps in his memories to be sure.

But he knows—

I'm tired of the shitty boyfriends.

Beth's playful smile loops in his head. Ghost feels sorry for you, and yet—

some sick part of him is pleased.

Relieved.

You need him. Haven't learned yet to winnow the wheat from the chaff; can't see that your precious time and effort is wasted on undeserving shits.

Tonight was supposed to be the last time; a final goodbye. Closure for the dead. That last push he needed to stop himself from reaching out and saying it's me—

Simon.

But this changes things. Ghost turns his back on the night, and disappears into the shadows.

It's time to make some phone calls.

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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sugurugetoshairbrush · 1 month ago

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playing match-maker with professor!gojo satoru [prev]

Dr. Gojo Satoru added Prof. Shoko Ieiri to Cupids <3

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Sho where are you taking your lunch today? You: Eat with us in Gojo’s lab!

Prof . Getou Suguru emphasized your message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: …why? Dr. Gojo Satoru: colleague bonding time! Prof. Shoko Ieiri: what’s the catch? You: Why does there have to be a catch T-T Prof. Getou Suguru: Join us, and we’ll accompany you to that meditation class taught by the cute brunette you’ve been drooling over.

Dr. Gojo Satoru laughed at a message

Prof. Shoko Ieiri: yeah alright

Shoko appears in the doorway of Gojo’s lab shortly after agreeing to join. Her white lab coat flutters as she strides in, a fitted blue shirt tucked into black pin-striped slacks. She plops her brown bag onto the table beside you, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder, and extracts a sandwich and an apple.

Across from you, Gojo sits perched at his desk, leaning back with his legs crossed atop the surface. His usual smug determination is evident, highlighted by his untouched strawberry cheesecake yogurt. His white turtleneck peeks above the collar of his lab coat, accentuating the icy hue of his hair and brows.

Unfortunately, spending so much time with Gojo means you are beginning to mirror him in subtle (and sometimes regrettable) ways. Today’s shared wavelength is your matching outfits—both of you in white turtlenecks and brown straight-leg slacks. Though, judging by the label on his, the price tags aren’t even close.

Getou, seated on a stool to your other side, shakes his salad container, the silver hem of his cardigan shimmering under the fluorescent light. A stray strand of hair falls across his face, and he tucks it behind his ear before turning to Shoko, who silently munches on her sandwich.

“So,” Getou begins, smirking, “we’re just going to ignore how quickly the promise of getting near your little hippie crush convinced you?”

Gojo snickers and Shoko shoots Getou a glare.

“She’s not a hippie,” Shoko retorts, wiping her mouth. “Meditation is a holistic approach with spiritual and health benefits. What do you guys even want from me? Gojo, you don’t eat lunch on campus—ever. The café staff down the road probably know you better than your students.”

You chime in. “Important business, Shoko. Gojo and I are working on a project requiring the intellectual brilliance of like-minded individuals.”

Getou nods solemnly. Shoko laughs.

“Thank god you entertain him,” she says. “Back when my pre-med lab was next to his, he wouldn’t stop dragging me into his ridiculous schemes. You’ve saved me countless headaches.”

Gojo grabs a stress ball from his desk and lobs it at her. Shoko deflects it with her elbow, the ball bouncing to the floor.

“You’re so mean,” Gojo pouts. “Anyway, you’re here to confirm my theory that first-years Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara are the ideal match.”

Shoko groans. “Of course I am. Let me guess—you two,” she points at you and Getou, “think Itadori and Fushiguro Megumi are a better match.”

You nod eagerly.

“Well,” she sighs, leaning back, “considering Gojo’s total lack of social awareness, I’d normally side with you two. But…Gojo, are you positive that you can concretely back your theory?”

Gojo stands, pacing dramatically. “Is an atom that’s lost its electron considered positive?”

“I think you’re saying yes?” you guess.

“Exactly!” Gojo snaps his fingers, grinning triumphantly.

Shoko, ever the pragmatist, pulls out her phone. “Fine. This semester, I’m teaching those three in Health & Wellness. Let me show you something.”

She scrolls through her phone and finally finds a video. “Yuji and Nobara worked together on a group project. Watch this.”

00:03 =⬤--------------------------- 01:17

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

[The video begins, revealing Yuji and Nobara squeezed together in the frame, their smiles radiant. Nobara playfully elbows Yuji, whose eyes widen in mock shock before he starts speaking.]

Yuji: “Hello, Sensei! Nobara and I finished the group assignment together and decided to try something totally out of our comfort zone. Actually, it’s something we’ve joked about before because it sounded ridiculous.”

[He stifles a laugh, running a hand through his pink hair, the short strands standing on end.]

Yuji: “We went to a local teaching farm and did… goat yoga. We’ve seen the posters on campus forever, so we thought, why not? It was a blast! The goats were fun, and hanging out with Nobara was great too!”

Nobara: “Yeah! Honestly, I was kind of nervous at first. It’s not easy convincing a goat to climb on your back during yoga poses. But once they did, their little hooves felt like a mini massage. Here—look!”

[She lifts a photo into the frame, holding it close to the camera. The image comes into focus: Yuji in a shaky downward dog pose on a yoga mat, Nobara beside him coaxing a tiny goat onto his back with a piece of hay. Nobara bursts out laughing and shakes the photo.]

Nobara: “Haha! Right after this, the goat climbed off Yuji and—get this—it started peeing. Like, it barely missed his pants! He’s so lucky he didn’t get soaked.”

[Yuji yelps, shoving her shoulder while Nobara doubles over, her laughter echoing. Grinning through his embarrassment, Yuji snatches the camera, bringing it close to his face.]

Yuji: “Okay, Sensei, I’m cutting this off. Nobara’s having way too much fun at my expense. But yeah, aside from that one… incident, it was really fun. I’d totally do it again!”

[His hand covers the lens, and the screen fades to black.]

01:17 =================⬤ 01:17

⇆ㅤ ◁ㅤ❚❚ㅤ▷ㅤ ↻

Shoko lowers her phone, pressing it to her lips as if lost in thought.

“Sorry, you two. After watching that again, I’m siding with Gojo on this. Look at them—they’re glowing. If someone made me laugh and smile like that, I’d be completely done for.”

Getou scoffs, muttering something about how that explains why Shoko’s “so giggly after meditation.”

You shush him, trying to keep things light.

“Alright, that makes it 2-3. But you know who else teaches those three? Professor Haibara. We have to ask him.”

Before long, Haibara Yu strolls into Gojo’s lab, looking as disheveled as ever. His charcoal slacks are slightly wrinkled, his pale pink shirt untucked, and his silver glasses sit crooked on his nose.

“You called—Oh! Everyone’s here! Hi!” he exclaims, spreading his arms wide in greeting.

Getou, ever efficient, disposes of his salad container and slings an arm over Haibara’s shoulder.

“Hey, Yu. Quick question: as their professor, do you think Yuji and Megumi would make a good match?”

Haibara blinks, caught off guard. “As in… romantically?”

When Getou nods, Haibara rubs the back of his neck, thinking.

“Well, they’re in my History of the Samurai class, and let me tell you, they’re my most enthusiastic students. On the first day, I asked what everyone already knew about samurai. Yuji and Megumi practically bolted to the board and started writing a list of skills they’ve practiced together.”

He grabs a marker and writes neatly on the whiteboard:

Samurai Fighting Basics – Megumi & Yuji

• Iaido: Drawing & Sheathing Iaitō • Kenjutsu: Bokken Stances & Striking • Kendo: Shinai Quick Attacks

“They even demonstrated some techniques right there in class,” Haibara says with a grin, his thick bangs falling into his eyes. “It’s obvious they’re close and share so many interests. Honestly, I ship it!”

The room erupts into chaos as everyone starts debating further. The argument rages on until Gojo’s next class begins trickling in, scattering the group with reluctant promises to continue later.

During your own lesson, as your students take turns popcorn-reading poetry, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Dr. Gojo Satoru: Hey, I just remembered. We’re facilitating that student union meeting today. We can totally ask the upperclassmen for their opinions!

You sigh, typing back a quick response.

You: Fine. Get back to teaching, Gojo.

When you woke up this morning, you definitely didn’t expect to be holed up in an empty classroom, grilling the Student Union’s elite members one by one about your matchmaking drama. Yet here you are, derailing their bi-weekly brainstorming session for fund allocation. To justify your antics, you and Gojo promised them unwavering financial support—if they gave you honest answers.

First up is Vice-President Okkotsu Yuta, his usual warm demeanor making him an ideal candidate for candid feedback. Sitting across from him, you can’t help but notice how he smiles sheepishly, like he’s trying to soften whatever he’s about to say.

“This probably won’t help much,” Yuta begins, rubbing the back of his neck, “but I’m ninety percent sure Maki likes Nobara. I mean, I can really see it, so I propose… NobaMaki.”

You and Gojo exchange a look, equally unimpressed. Without a word, you call in the next person.

Secretary Inumaki Toge is next. Sassy and loyal, he takes his seat across from you with a raised brow, clearly amused by the situation. After you explain the debate, he listens intently before lifting his hands to sign his response.

“I don’t know about Megumi and Yuji,” Toge signs carefully, his fingers precise, “but if you’re suggesting Nobara and Maki, I’ve got news: I’ve heard Maki and Yuta are actually a thing.”

You freeze mid-follow-up, fumbling for the signs to convey “suggest” and “imply.” Gojo swoops in, translating seamlessly. Of course, he’s fluent—he picked up sign language quickly after the two of you agreed to learn for Toge’s sake.

“Well,” you mutter, leaning back in your chair. “That cleared up absolutely nothing.”

Finally, you summon President Zenin Maki. Confident and direct, she strides in with her arms crossed, rectangular glasses reflecting the fluorescent lights. Her thick lashes peek over the frames as she narrows her eyes at you.

“What now?” she snaps, cutting right to the chase. “Me and Yuta? Seriously? Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but since we’re dragging Yuta into this—Toge likes him. So there’s that.”

Maki turns on her heel and marches out, her ponytail swishing with every sharp step.

Gojo groans dramatically and leans his head on your shoulder, the soft tips of his snowy-white hair brushing your cheek.

“This is just getting more ridiculous,” he says, voice muffled against your arm. “Everyone’s in love with someone else. What the fuck?”

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Careful not to disturb Gojo, who’s still sulking on your shoulder, you retrieve it.

Prof. Nanami Kento Can you return my projector tomorrow morning? I need it for my lesson. Thank you kindly. Also, I hear you and Gojo are still sniffing around where you don’t belong. Just a word of advice: being messy usually leads to more mess. Good luck cleaning it all up.

You sigh, sliding your phone back into your pocket. Nanami’s right, of course. But does that mean you’ll stop? Absolutely not.

insp by @r4yz-4u's comment !

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mullermilkshake · 3 months ago

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Suguru is late for dinner.

MINORS DNI - Tags: Yakuza AU, references to Fem! Reader, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, organs, references to castration, gutting.

<- Back to arc masterlist

"Mr Geto, I can finish this. You're getting blood all over your clothes and you have dinner with your wife tonight."

The squelching of muscle and bone never bothered Suguru. Not the cutting of tendons or viscera along his serrated gold plated blade, or the pathetic cries once someone realised not to cross him and begged for their life to swear loyalty to the Geto family.

Why the hell would Suguru trust anyone who tired to steal from him, cause a disturbance in one of his clubs and they bare face lie to him after?

No. He could already hear you in his ear, telling him straight what he already knew. Never let someone take you for a fool twice.

"It's perfectly fine Miguel, she'll understand if I'm a little late."

You would. He realised pretty early on in the marriage that you pretty much had no issue with whatever he did, as long as he had a reason to follow it through.

By now, Suguru was wrist deep inside the mans torso, rummaging around in the chest cavity for one reason in particular. "Which one do you think this little group of Yakuza will appreciate more, Miguel?"

"Anything that's disrespectful."

"That's true," Suguru pulled out a clump of everything from the hole he had cut. "While the lungs are prominent, they're a little bulky... maybe the heart, but it's a little too predictable."

The man on the table once belonged to a small up and coming group of Yakuza men, they had come from a rural area to Shinjuku looking for real estate. Satoru had already dealt with the majority of them, Suguru was taking care of the stranglers to add insult to injury.

Miguel approached the table with a casual stance and leant against the wall. “His head would be good but then the shipping cost would be a pain,"

"Maybe I could cut off his cock and send that instead, it's disrespectful enough, right?" Suguru shook off his hands and glared down at the body on the table. "No. That's too good for him."

He glanced at the clock on the wall and tutted. "You took up way too much of my time, didn't you?"

The body never replied which was disrespectful enough. "Miguel, take this piece of shit and dump him somewhere they'll find him. Sending a body part somehow seems too formal for scum."

"Yes sir."

This whole operation wasn't for nothing, but when you realised that Suguru pretty much cut up a man for no reason, well, he'd have to make it up to you.

He was already late for dinner when his pager went. Cleaning himself off, Suguru checked it. "Shit..."

316... There was only one reason someone would page him that code.

"Sir?"

"Change of plans. Call my wife immediately and tell her we'll need to do dinner tomorrow. Sukuna needs me for a meeting, it's urgent. I'll make it up to her."

"She isn't going to be happy, is she?"

"No, but if you play your cards right, maybe she'll set some food aside for you, it's better someone eats, instead of it going to waste. Take her some flowers in the meantime once you've finished with our friend here."

Suguru watched Miguel grin and start moving the body, you would have gone to much trouble making dinner tonight and it was only right you still ate with someone, even if it wasn't Suguru.

He wiped off his hands, cursing to himself for the inopportune moment to pull an emergency meeting when Suguru had just been to clan headquarters earlier that day.

But, still was life and being a lieutenant called for this attention.

This better be good.

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#jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #yakuza au #geto suguru #jjk #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto #suguru geto #x reader #reader insert #geto jjk #jjk miguel

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weirdsht · 4 months ago

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Disillusioned 20 . Overdue

a/n: OMFG AFTER 20 CHAPTERS I FINALLY FOUND WHAT FACE MASK I WAS ENVISIONING, apparently it's called a face veil. the one I specifically had in mind is a hanfu face veil

also while writing this I had to reread the novel because I wanted to use the exact lines Alberu said, and holy sht does it get funnier every time I read it

tags: possessive/overprotective cale, fluff, attempt at comedy

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist prev . next

“Let’s use this opportunity to reveal _____’s existence.”

“Pardon me but I literally just got here…”

_____ was taken aback by the crown prince inside Cale’s room. Not necessarily by his presence as Raon had already informed the healer through telepathy, hence the extra tea, but rather at his words.

“We’re already going to give the people a lot of surprises before the program starts why not maximise it?”

The healer listened to Cale as they poured everyone a cup of tea. In the corner of their eyes, they can see Raon offering them a piece of cookie.

“Yes, I also can’t hold off the nobles wishing to investigate Medicus-nim any longer. At every meeting, they insist on knowing the mysterious healer who’s always by our beloved commander’s side.”

All three adults know what the nobles really want is to pry the healer away from the commander’s side but no one said it out loud.

“So _____ is also very popular! Good for you kindest _____!”

_____ accepted the cookie the young dragon was offering before talking.

“I deeply apologize for the trouble I have caused. I know you’re already busy blocking off the churches because of Mary-nim.”

Sip

The healer took a small sip of tea before continuing.

“If everyone agrees that it’s time for me to make my presence known again then I shall abide.”

Raon held another cookie on _____’s lips despite the healer already holding one. Giving in to the child’s wishes, _____ took a bite of the cookie.

“Then it’s settled. I shall officially announce that you are alive and well. I shall also officially announce that you will be inheriting half of the Perduellio’s assets.”

The Medicus looked down for a moment to see the young dragon playing with their discarded face veil. Raon is trying to wear _____’s veil but can’t quite tie the strings at the back.

“Wouldn’t doing that get the crown some backlash? I am still a Perduellio even though I do not share their blood.”

“They won’t. No one will even dare have a passing thought that you’re involved in their crimes once they hear how they discarded you.”

Cale motioned over to Raon as he spoke. Once the dragon was in front of him, he tied the strings of the veil that reminded the redhead of the Chinese traditional dramas he used to watch back in high school.

Thump

Finally, things sunken in on _____. As they they did the healer felt a sense of nervousness. Unsure if they will be able to handle such responsibility.

Cale who noticed the healer’s hands tremble ever so slightly grabbed them. Holding hands seems to be the new norm for the two.

“I’m not sure if I’ll do a good job but I promise to do my best.”

“Since that’s settled, let’s go back to our previous topic. As I was saying, I need to borrow Choi Han and you.”

Alberu ignored the two showing affection despite not being romantically involved and instead focused on feeding Raon more sweets.

_____ took that as a sign to go back to their bedroom. The commander and healer duo reluctantly let go of each other’s hands and the crown prince kept pretending his blind.

Two days later, at the centre of Huiss, both nobles and normal citizens of the Roan Kingdom gathered to watch the award ceremony and celebration.

“I’m sure everybody is shocked at my sudden announcement of my instructor.”

It’s true, no one had expected Choi Han to come in together with the crown prince, much less be announced that the youngest swordmaster is his highness’ instructor.

“However!”

The healer took it as a sign to stand up.

“There is still one more surprise.”

_____ could feel and hear the nobles whispering amongst themselves. Scared of what’s to come.

“Everyone knows about this one particular healer, the one who’s always by Commander Cale’s side. Surely everyone is curious as to who could that be.”

At that moment Choi Han assisted _____ towards the platform where he and Alberu are. This made everyone even more intrigued as the swordmaster looked like a knight escorting a noble.

The healer muttered a thanks towards Choi Han before stepping to be beside Alberu.

“However, you all them better than you think you do. Young master _____ could you do the honours?”

Both the hall and the plaza are filled with murmurs and questions. Everyone is asking one another if they heard the crown prince correctly.

“How could this be real? Isn’t the Medicus dead for two years?”

“But they never presented a body…”

“Well, how could they retrieve a body that died in the Dessert of Death.”

To quell the masses' growing questions, _____ finally pulled down their hood and removed the face veil they were wearing.

Questions and doubts turned into exclamations of celebration.

“It’s Medicus-nim…”

“Our Medicus-nim is safe!”

“All this time Medicus-nim has been helping defend our kingdom!”

These are some of the comments that can be heard throughout the plaza.

Meanwhile, the nobles in the hall are just as shocked but are more composed about it. However, it’s still noisy as everyone is murmuring amongst themselves.

Alberu raised his hand indicating silence as he still had more to say.

“Young master _____, most of you may know them as Roan Kingdom’s Medicus. Two years ago we received the devastating news that they have died but that was not the case.”

Alberu steps forward for dramatic effect.

“Today the truth shall be revealed! What really happened was that young master _____ found out about Perduellio’s wrongdoings. However, before they could report to me directly what they found out their family threw them in the Dessert of Death. Luckily the Dark Elves found the young master in time.”

Gasp could be heard throughout.

For the citizens that wrongdoing was the announced fraud, tax evasion, and embezzlement done by the family. The nobles and those with a strong network of information, know it’s most likely pertaining to the human trafficking case that happened in the Gyerre Territory.

“It is essentially thanks to the young master that we found out about the Perduellio’s true nature. Even after what happened to them, they still looked after our kingdom.”

Half a lie of a story, but who would dare try to verify it? In addition to that, how would they verify it when the Perduellios are within Cale and Alberu’s clutches?

“As of today the title and territory of the Perduellio’s shall belong to young master _____. Along with this comes half of the assets they used to own.”

The nobles waited for more, scared of the power the Medicus was about to hold. Surely that can’t be it. Not only does the healer have great contributions during the war, but they have also essentially reported traitors within the kingdom.

At that moment, Alberu gave the spotlight to _____.

“When his highness the crown prince came and talked to me, he had offered to give me more rewards for my contributions during the war. However…”

Soft and gentle voice that everyone missed listening to can be heard. This made everyone silent so they could tune in better, especially the citizens. This is essentially the first time _____ is making a public statement.

“I refused it. I may have not known before what my adoptive family was doing, but I still unknowingly helped fund it. For that, I deeply apologize to the citizens of my beloved kingdom.”

_____ bowed deeply as an apology.

There’s no way for the healer to know, but at that moment protests could be heard in the plaza. People are saying things like “they should have accepted the rewards as they deserve it” and “there’s no way they could have known, Medicus-nim is also a victim”.

“As a further apology for the Perduellio’s misdemeanours, I promise everyone that I will further help the citizens of our kingdom by doubling the charity events I used to do in the past. I also promise to straighten out the Perduellio territory.”

‘And do my best to provide some land where the Dark Elves can live.’

_____’s voice was soft but stern. Everyone can see the determination in the healer’s eyes.

Ever since _____ has heard from Cale about how Alberu is planning to give them Perduellio’s territory, the healer has set their mind on providing a land where the Dark Elves could live. The healer is aware that with how things are right now, Alberu can’t give them a separate land himself. So _____ took it upon themself to provide them with land to help normalize their existence and help the crown prince award them their land faster.

After _____’s proclamation, Alberu took over again and the healer went back to where they were seated before. As they did they put their hood and veil back up. There honestly wasn’t a need to do so.

However…

“Cale, I am truly, very proud of you.”

There it is.

“I am very happy to have such a precious younger brother like you”

It took every fibre of _____’s being to not laugh.

The reason why the healer pulled their hood and veil back up is so that no one would be able to see them laugh. While watching the theatrics Alberu is doing _____ remembered the private conversation they had the night before where they talked about how dramatic Alberu should be for this moment.

‘This is more fun than I thought.’

It was after dinner, the entire Henituse family might eat their dinners separately but that doesn’t stop Cale, _____, and the kids from eating together. Eating almost every meal together had been their norm for a year, being in the Henituse castle is not going to change that.

The healer opened the door to their room that was placed just beside Cale. As they did the first thing they see is a quarter Dark Elf reading the novel they had just finished reading.

“A man who got transported inside a novel as the empire’s hostage second male lead then promised to live a simple life so they won’t die for the male lead but ended up making both the male and female lead attached to him? This is interesting I might have to borrow this book from you so I can continue reading it later”

“I didn’t know the crown prince of our kingdom is also a professional in breaking and entering. You truly are a man of many talents.”

Alberu is leisurely sitting on one of _____’s couches while eating a cookie he bought himself. The healer closed the door and sat down in front of him.

“What brings your highness here?”

The crown prince already visited the other night, there’s essentially no reason for him to visit again. It also can’t be an emergency because if it was then he would be in Cale’s room.

“I’m here to talk about your rewards for your contribution during the war.”

_____ refused immediately.

“Your highness, I’m sorry but I must reject.”

The two started talking about the possible backlash if _____ receives too much. The healer also let Alberu know of their plan about letting the Dark Elves in their territory once they become a count.

None of them knew how but the topic gradually shifted to something more lighthearted.

“So you know how my dear dongsaeng has been giving me headaches right?”

The healer nodded.

“I want to pay him back for his efforts somehow.”

Without missing a beat _____ spoke up.

“Make the sworn brothers reveal dramatic your highness. Make it look like you are brothers that have been reunited after being apart for hundreds of years.”

“You really get me Medicus-nim! That’s exactly what I was planning to do.”

Alberu starts talking about the script he had in mind. As _____ hears more about it the more they could envision Cale having a sour look on his face.

The two conspired together to make a script that would make play directors run for their money with how dramatic and grand it is.

“Your highness after grabbing his hand I suggest looking moved while saying “There’s probably nobody in the world who is upright and has no greed like my younger brother” it’ll probably give your dongsaeng nightmares for at least a week.”

And so that’s where they are right now.

_____ had to cover their mouth with their hand. To others, it'll look like the healer was just deeply moved. But the sworn brother knows that the healer is fighting for their life to not laugh out loud.

“I am happy as well. Hyung-nim.”

The one-sided play put on by Alberu ended when Cale finally called the crown prince ‘hyung’ out loud. After that fiasco, the award ceremony finally started.

Mary and the Dark Elves just didn’t mention how pink _____’s face was from holding back laughter.

After the ceremony, the healer changed their outfit into something more fitting for a noble before going over to where Cale is.

“Hahahaha! Cale you should’ve seen your face. It was so funny.”

“You definitely planned that with the crown prince didn’t you?”

Cale is glad that _____ is more expressive and is more joyful now. He just doesn’t appreciate how the healer is currently laughing at him.

“Of course I did. I don’t think I would be able to hold it in if I didn’t know what’s going to happen in advance.”

“Just keep laughing. Let’s see who’ll get the last laugh once you choke on your dessert.”

“Hahahaha!”

No one can hear the conversation the two nobles are having. So in their eyes, it just looks like two good friends having a chat as they didn’t notice the slightly sour look on Cale’s face.

Some might even speculate that something is going on between the two.

How could they not when there’s a blatant fondness in the young man’s eyes?

It honestly looks like his blasting his feelings for everyone to see.

The Henituse family calling over _____ to talk to them does not help the future rumours.

“It’s good that your territory is just right beside us. Remember to call us for anything you need help with.”

“If anyone mistreats you or questions your power tell us or Cale immediately.”

It also doesn’t help that Deruth and Violan are acting as if _____ is their child. The whole thing honestly screams ‘Not only am I being protected by this new dukedom, but I am also very much loved by them.’

That was why some nobles had the great idea of trying to approach the newly named Count while they were eyeing the sweets selection. Since they couldn’t approach Cale they switched their targets to _____.

Not only are they acquainted with the Henituse Duchy, but they are also reputable themself. Their power is unstable opening an opportunity for other nobles to help them, and they have a gentle personality. There’s a lot to gain by forming a relationship with someone like that.

So two nobles set their eyes on _____.

However, before they can even try to speak an overwhelming presence makes itself known. The aura of this person is so strong that it feels suffocating.

“I told you to come to me after talking to my parents.”

“But I saw this cake that looks good. I wanted to get it for us and Raon to taste.”

“Where is it? If it’s good let's ask Beacrox to make it.”

The two nobles tried approaching again once they saw the friendly atmosphere between the two. However, they stopped in their tracks once they saw the commander look at them directly in the eye.

‘Wasn’t he just smiling at the healer a second ago??’

Cale who made his Dominating Aura slightly stronger looked back at _____ who was none the wiser.

“Let’s go Raon is waiting for us on the terrace.”

“Ah right! I have to let him taste this, let’s go.”

With that, the two nobles lost their chance to even glance at _____.

“I’m sorry… I wanted to join you this time too.”

Once again the commander and healer duo are talking. Unlike their conversation earlier, this one is more serious. More private.

“Don’t worry about it, there's more than enough of us to finish the task.”

As usual, their hands naturally found their way towards each other. Cale squeezed _____’s hand to further show that it really is okay.

In that moment it was just the two of them in their own bubble. Nothing else mattered; not Raon stashing away desserts, not the nobles partying back there, not even White Star watching from the live feed in the plaza.

Just the two of them in their own world. Reassuring each other that everything will be alright.

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b33zlebubz · 1 year ago

Text

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER SEVEN - dogfight

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREV CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

Suddenly, everything is a blur of red lights and yelling and running.

Price ushers you to your room with a stern: "go go go." You grab your pack and shove what you can into it as he guards the door, handgun firm in his grasp as he shouts orders to soldiers as they dart up and down the hallway grabbing gear. Your heart pounds in your ears and you barely have time to zip up your rucksack before he's urging you out again.

Sandwiched between everyone with your head ducked down, you run. Gunshots ring out over your head and under your feet, and you yelp whenever Ghost grabs your arm and yanks you away from a sniper hit just as you're leaving the building; urging you along. Price is yelling. Soap is yelling. Nikolai is with your small group—sharp, Russian orders shouted over the loud buzzing of a helicopter as you're all but pushed inside.

It's off the ground the second your back hits the wall. Suddenly, Price is in front of you again—but you can barely see him through the panic that floods your senses.

"Breathe. Deep breaths, kid. C'mon," he says as he coaxes a headset onto your head. You try to help, but your hands are too shaky. The others are yelling, and Ghost is leaning out of the side of the helicopter as it bobs and dips, returning Shadow Company fire with abandon. The sound, as well as the raspiness of Price's voice, are both muffled by the earphones around your ears until Price's voice comes through on the comms. "You're safe with us. Y'hear me?"

You swallow the bile that threatens to rise in your throat, squeezing your eyes shut as you try to force your breathing to regulate. You nod, but your hands squeeze at his sleeves anyway—knuckles white as you use his presence to ground yourself.

"Okay," you force out. "Y-yeah. I hear you."

"Good. Keep breathin','' he looks over his shoulder to where Ghost, Soap, and Gaz are all fending off the others. "Does anyone have a visual?"

"They've got their own helos after us, sir!" Gaz shouts. "Things might get ugly!"

"Helos?!"

"There's five of 'em!" Soap clarifies, reloading his weapon. His arm is bleeding, but he doesn't seem to notice. "The cunt isn't fucking around this time! It's either we go down, or they do!"

"Yeah, well, that's not fuckin' happening," Price all but growls, bracing you against him as the helocopter lurches to the side. "Give 'em hell!"

"Yes, sir!"

You press yourself back against the wall, watching as everything goes to shit around you. A line of fire dents the wall of the helo right by your head and you yelp. "Price—"

As if on cue, there's an explosion.

You're knocked sideways. Your vision blanks whenever your head hits metal, a ringing in your ears exploding from your senses. In a split second of quick thinking, your hand wraps around a metal railing as the helo tilts. Curses and yells of surprise fill the small space as everyone scrambles to the side.

Except one.

"Soap!"

He slips with a yell and you grab his wrist before he can slip out the side opening. You watch boxes and supplies slide out and into the snow maybe twenty stories below as the Earth below you tilts and spins. Shocked, he looks up to meet your gaze—your eyes meeting his with nothing but sheer panic as he lifts his other arm to grab your wrist in both hands, legs flailing.

Nikolai is quick to right the helo again and you're launched back onto the floor at Soap's side. Disoriented, you pant as your shaky arms pull yourself upright to meet Soap's gaze. He's shocked, eyes wide as he blinks with you—as if he really didn't expect you to save him.

He nods his thanks before Price pulls you to your feet again.

"We lost Gaz!" Nikolai's voice explodes over the comms.

"Fuck's sake!"

"Again?!"

"We'll have to go back—"

"No time!" Nikolai calls over his shoulder. "You want to stay alive—no turning back. Not now."

"Gaz," you huff, scrambling out of Price's hold. "No—no we gotta go back!"

Price grabs you before you can get too close to the opening. "There's no time, kid!"

"We can't leave him behind!"

"We have to!"

You shove yourself free just as there's a loud blast and the helo lurches again. This time, you're too late to grab something.

There's yelling before there's silence. A bright light and the feeling of something large knocking into you before there's nothing but blinding white and bright blue sky. Your headset flies off your head, getting swept away in the wind as you watch the helo spin out of control from afar.

You're falling.

You're screaming, you think, but the ringing in your ears drowns out everything else. Your body spins in the air as you flail and air rushes into your eyes and lungs.

The ground gets closer.

Closer.

Then, your body breaks ice with a smash and everything is loud again. The water roars as the breath is punched from your lungs. You know you should move, flail, kick your legs—but your body doesn't respond. You watch the bubbles fly past the dog tags around your neck as the light of the surface sinks past your fingers.

Calm. Quiet.

Your body goes limp. For the first time in weeks, the panic ebbs way to peace as the freezing cold numbs your senses. You think, maybe, you could sleep like this—silent, undisturbed, as your eyes sink shut and your nerves die.

Then, a hand grabs the front of your jacket, and you're yanked to the surface.

Simon gasps when he breaches the ice with you in his arms. Not that it supplies him with much air to begin with; as the sopping wet cloth of his mask seems to choke him with each breath. Waterboarding, a torture he's grown very familiar with over the years—and it sends an extra surge of adrenaline through his veins that helps him drag you up and onto the ice before climbing up beside you.

He turns on his side and it feels like the world tilts with him as he sputters and coughs up water. The ringing in his ears is bright and loud as it seems to leak into his vision, blurring everything into smudges of white and black that are nearly incomprehensible. Be it blind panic, or just his natural instinct to get up, keep moving—drilled into his brain after years and years of experience—but he shoves himself to his knees anyway.

He hears what sounds like coughing, gagging. Panting. His eyes flit over just as the sharpness in his vision returns and you're the second thing he sees: on your hands and knees, curled in on yourself at his side as you spit bile, blood, and water onto the ice with an arm curled around your stomach. It's then that everything rushes back to him. The alarms, the gunfire, the helo, Price's shouting, the Shadow Company.

He reaches out with a hoarse and quiet: "Kid..."

Your breathing doesn't settle. Instead, it seems to speed up as you scramble backwards and the ice cracks underneath you. Your movements shake, arms and legs dumb, slow, and useless as you force them to move you backwards; away from him. Blood coats your face and your eyes are bleary and unfocussed. He recognizes the look you give him—one of panic, confusion. It's identical to how you looked at him whenever you first met, with a dead man's blood splattered on your clothes.

"No," you mutter, your breath coming in fast puffs. "No no no no."

Simon stumbles over, grabbing your shoulder, "Easy now—"

Startled, you kick him away. "Get off me!"

"Keep your head on, kid, it's me!"

"Fuck off!"

In a split-second decision of disparity, Simon reaches up and yanks off his mask. He grabs your shoulders, keeping you still as you freeze—the figure of your nightmares gone and replaced, instead, by something more human. Something sopping wet and equally as freezing. He watches the fear in your face give way to confusion, and then the confusion give way to shock.

"It's me," he huffs out between breaths, the cold air stinging his skin, "It's me."

He watches your mis-matched pupils scan over his face, the furrow in your brows smoothing over as a rivulet of blood drips down your temple from the gash on your forehead. There’s a split on your lip, too, and all the blood mixes together as it drips off your chin. Simon can’t imagine he looks much better as you take in his facial features for the first time.

Then, he watches your eyelids flutter as your head lulls forwards, and he catches it in his hand.

“Don’t,” he commands, immediately shifting into action again. “Stay with me."

“How…” You rasp as he turns, leaning you against his geared chest to free his hands—each breath fogging up into the freezing air as he keeps you in a sitting position. He reaches for the comm on his shoulder. With shaky hands, he switches through channels until he gets to one that's dead silent. He swallows thickly before he speaks.

“Watcher, this is Bravo 0-7, do you copy?”

The radio sputters. The only thing that greets him is the silence of the snow and your shaky breathing. He tries again, more urgently.

“Ghost to Watcher. We fell out the helo. Kid’s injured bad do you copy?”

Again, silence. Ghost hears your breathing hitch and he purses his lips together. Just as dread begins to settle deep in Ghost’s stomach—a voice comes loud and clear through the speakers.

"Watcher to Ghost. I hear you. Any word on Price?"

You let out a sigh of relief at the sound of Laswell's voice. If Ghost didn’t have a probably-broken rib, he’d do the same.

"No," Ghost grunts. "We fell in a lake. Helo is nowhere in sight."

"Are you injured?"

Ghost tastes copper in his mouth when he breathes. "I'm upright."

"And the kid?"

You go to speak, "I'm fine—"

"Hit and in shock," Ghost interrupts. "Probably concussed."

Then, Price's out-of-breath voice cuts through the comms. There's shuffling and other voices in the background. “Ghost, this is Price. You’re safe?"

This time, Ghost does let out a breath. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. We’ve crashed but Laswell's sent a team out to grab us. We’re coming back for you two, you hear me?”

You grab Ghost's arm, "But Gaz—"

“Loud and clear, sir.” Ghost breathes, “loud and clear.”

“Good man. Get to safety, stay warm. We'll be there A.S.A.P."

"Solid copy."

And, with that, all was silent aside for the sound of you and Ghost's combined breathing. He places a hand on your shoulder, easing you back to look up at him. "You still with me?"

Your eyes squeeze shut. You shake your head as if trying to shake something out of it, your countenance flushed and dazed from the freezing cold. He rubs your shoulders, trying to restore some warmth to your body.

“Keep talkin’. Tell me what hurts.”

“Can't…” You swallow thickly. Your hands fumble to grab at your leg. “Fuck, c-can't think…I can’t…”

“Stand?”

“Yeah.”

"You fell out of a helicopter, Mutt. It would stand to reason if you were a bit shaken,” he huffs, shifting into a kneeling position with his back to you. “On my back. We gotta keep moving.”

The shock fading a little from your system, you slowly push yourself upright enough to settle against his back.

"Mutt?" You question as your arms fall around his neck. His gloved hands grab under your knees, keeping you secured to his back as he hypes himself up to stand.

"That's what Soap called you, ain't it?" He breathes as he stands. "Some mutt the C.I.A. dragged in."

"Don't tell me…don't tell me that's what I'm stuck with now, after all this."

He scoffs a little, righting himself. "What sticks, sticks, kid."

He barely takes a step forwards before his leg unexpectedly gives. You gasp whenever he stumbles, falling to a knee in the snow.

"Bloody hell…"

"Ghost?" You prompt, worried, as he breathes in and out. The world spins sound for a moment, and his eyes go dazed. Your voice, however, pulls him out of it and your bloodied hand tugging at his ruined vest grounds him back to reality. "Ghost if you're shot, we're fucked."

"I'm not hit," he wheezes, a bold-faced lie. He's been hit in the calf in all the chaos, but it missed any major arteries so he chooses to ignore it for now. Instead, he forces himself shakily back to his feet again. He takes a few wobbly steps before he's walking steadily once more, his limbs feeling heavy as they waft through the freezing snow. "Just old. Can't take a fall like I used to."

You let out a breath that fogs up into the air, quivering from the cold as water drips from everything.

“Okay…okay, good,” you breathe, your hold around him tightening. “Where are we going?”

Simon looks up. The cold bites at his bare face and he squints through the eye black and water that clings to his lashes to look up at the snow and the trees around them. He swallows thickly, his mind cycling through S.E.A.R. training as he fights to stay focused, get to safety.

Safety. Shelter.

You needed shelter.

His gaze sweeps the empty forests with a newfound determination now that he has a goal to focus on; something to work towards. His footsteps slow to a stop as he looks around, the only sound in the forest being the crunching of snow and the buzzing of a far-off A-10 that makes his stomach twist.

But you were alive—and that’s all that mattered to him.

So, he picks up his pace. He presses onwards.

“I don’t know,” He huffs. “But we'll find somewhere."

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai @pertinentpostmortem @kaoyamamegami @hayleybarnesx @nostalgialeech @scuftryo @0alk0msan @synthe4u @stunkbiggu @bebobeboben @enfppixie @lyd14k4y @tlkonthestr33t @raye2000 @shinchanboi

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

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veephoenix · 3 months ago

Text

zutto — chapter ten | wc: 3.7k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: the tour ends and Noah and Lia reunite with Noah's grandmother.

Reading time: 15mins aprox.

Author's note: this chapter is more fast-paced than previous ones. It's a bit of a filler because this was supposed to be included in chapter 9, but it felt too long so I split it. + I have an interesting question for you readers at the end of the chapter ‼️

Tags and trigger warnings: established relationship, angst, insomnia, talks of mental health, anxiety, medication, fluff, comfort, it's implied that noah marked lia in the previous chapter, shower sex, lia visits a cosplay shop and buys a certain costume, matt teasing lia on repeat about it, dirty fantasies (including giving oral while on her knees and being called a good girl), noah and lia reunite with hana, finally.

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

Noah was deep in sleep. Or so it seemed. He had fallen asleep within seconds after washing up and putting on some boxers.

The room was dark, but Lia could still make out his long figure lying on his stomach beside her. She was sat, her back against the headboard. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep yet.

Thoughts were drilling into her mind. They had started as soon as she settled into bed, tucked against Noah’s chest. The high they had shared together had been so intense that the moment calm settled into her bones and the room, —the moment Noah’s breathing slowed and she knew he was fast asleep—, that part of her brain, the one intent on sabotaging every good thing in her life, woke up.

She waited, battling the thoughts, the voices. Minutes passed. She untangled herself from Noah’s arms to shift positions. An hour dragged on. Still, she couldn’t find comfort, so she eventually sat up. More time passed. At some point, tears began to slip down her face as memories resurfaced: every time she’d pushed him away, how cold she’d been to him during the last tour, how she had screamed at him, pushed him, blamed him for making her fall in love with him.

As of late, when she felt this way, her solution was Noah—Noah’s arms around her, Noah’s soothing words whispered in her ear, Noah’s soft kisses. But now Noah was asleep, and she wasn’t about to wake him, not after the exhaustion he’d been carrying since yesterday. They hadn’t slept on the plane. Then he had soundcheck, a nearly two-hour show, and later, when they reached the hotel room past ten p.m., he’d still been a gentleman, seducing her and convincing her to make love. He deserved his rest now.

So what was left?

The pills in Noah’s bag.

She spotted the bag’s shape from where she sat. All she had to do was get up, take two steps to reach it, and find the bottle inside.

She was about to move when Noah’s hand wrapped around her bare thigh. His head lifted from the pillow, his eyes squinting in the darkness to see her.

“Lia? What are you doing?”

Lia cursed silently. She sniffed, wiping her eyes as she looked away.

Noah shifted, lifting himself onto his forearms.

“Are you crying?”

“Yes. I’m crying,” she admitted.

Noah watched her as best he could in the dark for a moment, then gently commanded, “Come here, lie down next to me.”

He pulled her into his arms.

“Was it a nightmare?”

“No. Just... thinking,” she replied, her voice muffled.

He closed his eyes again, halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

“Thinking about what?”

“Last tour. How badly I messed it up.”

Noah hummed softly, cradling her head against his chest without saying a word.

“That’s in the past, Lia. Focus on this tour, how well it’s going.”

His voice was a soothing lullaby in the dark, and she sobbed quietly once more, clinging to him.

“Please... hold me?” she whispered, scared. Scared of the voice winning, of eventually getting up and reaching for the pills.

Noah tightened his hold, entwining his leg with hers beneath the covers.

“I’m not letting go,” he reassured her, kissing the top of her head. “Try to sleep now. I’ve got you.”

Clutching his t-shirt in her fist, she tilted her head to press her cheek against his chest. She focused on the warmth of his body enveloping hers, cocooning her in safety, comforted by his familiar scent.

It was okay. He had forgiven her. She had forgiven herself... right?

She was allowed to feel sadness and anger over what had happened, but she couldn’t let that dark voice win. This was a battle she was fighting, and she was going to win it.

The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of their hotel room, casting a warm, golden glow over the rumpled sheets. As Noah finished getting ready, Lia sat on the edge of the bed, idly scrolling through her phone. She wore black jeans and a white tank top, her grey cardigan loosely draped over her shoulders, one side slipping off to reveal a glimpse of bare skin— skin she’d carefully concealed with makeup to hide the evidence of Noah’s possessiveness. The day ahead promised adventure with the crew, but she seemed lost in thought.

Noah came over, adjusting his hoodie. They had a brief window before he had to leave for an interview with the rest of the band. His gaze became more intent as he took a closer look at her.

“You look tired.”

Lia tilted her head up to look at him. His fingers reached out and brushed her cheek, his thumb tracing just beneath her eye.

She offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep great last night.” She chuckled softly, shrugging. “I’m still tired, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Why don’t you stay in and rest?”

She shook her head.

“I’d rather go shopping while you’re gone.”

Noah’s brows furrowed, his hand lingering on her chin.

“You sure?”

“Positive,” she said. “I’ll be the one taking a power nap before the show today. Don’t worry about me.”

He studied her a moment longer, his gaze softening even more as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Alright.” He let go of her face only to order her to lift her chin. When she did so, he leaned down to kiss her lips. “Text me if you find something cool, yeah?”

“Will do,” she replied as she watched him walk to the door and open it. “Good luck with the interview,” she called after him.

“Thanks!” he called back, disappearing into the hallway, leaving behind the familiar ache of missing him.

But despite the quiet settling in the room, Lia found herself looking forward to the day.

After Noah left with the guys, she met up with Matt and a couple of the crew in the hotel lobby, ready to explore the city. Davis was already scrolling through his phone, trying to find the closest Starbucks. When he did, they stepped into the streets.

The air was cool, the chatter of locals and tourists blending into the urban soundscape as they stopped at a Starbucks just a few blocks away, the familiar green logo standing out against the colorful street signs. While the crew placed their orders—lattes, iced Americanos, and frappuccinos—Lia opted for a Sakura oat latte, something she always enjoyed when they were in Japan.

Once caffeinated, they wandered through the streets, stopping in shops selling everything from manga to electronics. Soon they found themselves at the entrance of a brightly colored cosplay shop. Lia’s eyes lit up as they stepped inside, the racks filled with a wild array of costumes, wigs, and accessories.

The shop was a riot of colors and fabrics, a dream for anyone into anime or cosplay culture. Lia loved the creativity of it all, even if she wasn’t into cosplay herself. She had always been fascinated by fantasy worlds and magical creatures—her love of drawing them showing up in everything she created, from the band’s merch to the sketches she did in her free time.

Her eyes wandered over the different outfits, but one in particular caught her attention. It was a playful kitty costume, complete with pink cat ears, a choker with a bell, and a sleek, form-fitting bodysuit, tail included. Lia raised an eyebrow at the sight, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. What if she wore that and waited for Noah, kneeling on the hotel bed…?

“That’s cute,” Matt said, noticing where her attention had landed and startling her. She hadn’t noticed he was standing right next to her, Starbucks cup in hand. “You’d look pretty good in that.”

Instead of blushing, Lia rolled her eyes. Classic Matt—bold and unfiltered.

“I’d probably look ridiculous.”

Matt gave her a knowing smile.

“Nah, Noah would love it. He’d probably lose his mind.”

That’s when she blushed. She looked away from him as a few more risqué scenarios flashed through her mind, ones she wasn’t about to voice in front of him. She could already picture Noah’s eyes lighting up when he saw her in her knees, chin tilted up towards him as she licked his lips and pulled down his jeans and boxers before getting her hands on his cock. She would take him in his mouth and pleasure him for hours on end only to have him cradle her head and tell her she was such a good girl.

She had drifted off, for she didn’t notice Matt’s amused growing smirk until he pointed out,

“You’re turning all red.”

Lia snapped back to reality and glared at him.

“Just get it!” He urged, grinning.

It was ridiculous, but maybe ridiculous was exactly what they both needed after the intensity of the tour so far.

She bought it, unsure of when she’d ever have the chance to wear it. She’d need to feel confident first, and that definitely wasn’t going to happen at Grandma’s house—out of respect for her and for the sake of privacy.

She paid for the costume, stuffing the bag into her backpack as they left the shop.

The day passed in a blur of sightseeing and laughter.

Lia pushed the hotel room door open nearly three hours later, her arms full of shopping bags, her cheeks still flushed from the cool autumn air outside. As the door clicked shut behind her, she dropped the bags onto the small armchair by the window, letting out a soft sigh of relief.

“Noah?” she called out.

“Shower!”

The sound of running water from the bathroom had just stopped. Moments later, Noah emerged, steam trailing him as he stepped into the room. His inked chest was still glistening with droplets of water, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, and his damp hair fell in messy, wet locks over his forehead. The sight was almost casual—too casual—yet there was something about him standing there, so unbothered by his own half-dressed state, that made Lia’s heart skip.

“Hey,” he greeted her, a warm smile playing on his lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back. “Did you have fun? Buy anything good?”

“Yeah, just some typical stuff,” she said casually after he pecked her lips. She pulled out a couple of the things she’d bought—a novel with a beautifully designed cover, a few art books showcasing the works of Japanese artists, and a collection of snacks in bright, colorful packaging.

Noah eyed the items with mild curiosity.

“Nice haul,” he said with a nod. His eyes flicked to the bag that had the word “cosplay” written on it for a split second, but he didn’t saying anything. “Those snacks look... adventurous.”

“They’re weird, right? I have no idea what half of this stuff is, but I figured we could try some of them later.”

“Deal.”

Lia moved toward the armchair and discarded her cardigan. The air between them felt warm and comfortable, a bubble of shared energy after being apart for most of the morning. She looked over her shoulder at him.

“How was the interview?”

He shrugged, still casual, but she noticed the way his fingers brushed over his arm absently.

“It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary, really.”

“Anything interesting come up?”

He hesitated, just a beat too long before answering.

“Nah, same old questions about the project, some boring stuff about the process. You didn’t miss much.”

Noah stood by the window for a moment longer, watching Lia settle on the bed. The soft hum of the city outside filled the room.

As Lia plopped onto the bed, she wriggled her way toward the pillows, getting comfortable in the fluffy mess before yawning. She propped her phone on the duvet, checking notifications with sleepy eyes and texting Emery, feeling a tad guilty that her best friend wasn’t here with Jolly when she was with Noah.

Noah’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before he crossed the room with that easy, laid-back air of his. The towel around his waist was hanging by a thread, and as he passed the foot of the bed, it slipped off without a second thought.

He didn’t even flinch as he walked naked to his suitcase, pulling it open with a soft zip. The way his bare skin moved in the late-morning light felt strangely natural and there was a beauty to it. There was no awkwardness, no hesitance—being like this in the same room as her. It felt like the same ease they had shared when they were just best friends, when movie nights meant sprawling on the couch in sweatpants and devoring the take out order. Except now, there was this new layer—one where he could walk naked around her feeling shameless and unbothered.

Lia glanced up from her phone just as Noah leaned over to grab a pair of boxers from his bag. Her gaze flickered over his body—his butt. She bit her lip until a yawn overtook her again. She settled deeper into the pillows.

“Still sleepy?” Noah asked, pulling the boxers up before turning to find a t-shirt. His voice was soft, as if he knew she was somewhere between awake and dreaming.

Lia stretched her legs out, sighing.

“The Sakura latte I had didn’t help much, to be honest.”

Noah chuckled, grabbing a shirt from the pile and pulling it over his head, the fabric clinging to his still-damp skin.

“Why don’t you call reception and ask for another coffee to be brought up?”

She shook her head, her phone slipping from her fingers as she laid it beside her.

“It’s okay. We’re meeting everyone downstairs for lunch in thirty minutes. I can manage.”

Noah walked over to the bed and tickled the bottom of her foot. Lia squealed, kicking her foot away and dissolving into giggles. The sound made him laugh too, that deep, familiar sound that had always made her feel at home.

“Okay,” he said, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he leaned down to kiss her, the warmth of his minty breath brushing her skin. Then, without another word, he disappeared back into the bathroom, the sound of the hairdryer kicking on as he set about styling his hair.

The rest of the tour was a whirlwind of excitement and joy. The crew was ecstatic—the tour another success. Each day had been an adventure—packed shows, vibrant crows, and the hights that lingered when they met after in hotel lounges or local bars. It was hard to tell who has higher on the euphoria of the experience. Even though they were exhausted—band memebers and crew, there was a collective felling of fulfillment and pride that wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Last night in Kyoto, they clinked glasses and laughed. It was nearly midnight, but everyone was wide awake, sharing stories from the day and anecdotes that had everyone cracking up. Lia was squashed between Folio and Bryan, sipping a strawberry mocktail.

At first, it felt a little strange to sit there surrounded by people drinking alcohol. The first time they’d decided to go out, Noah made sure she was comfortable with it, letting her know that if it ever got overwhelming, they could leave and head back to the hotel.

But that didn’t happen.

She was fine, even as the others indulged. She focused on the good company, the light-hearted conversations, and everyone’s joy. She didn’t need alcohol to feel it. Still, she couldn’t help but notice Noah also stayed away from the drinks. It wasn’t just for his health; she was almost certain he was doing it for her, silently supporting her in ways he wouldn’t openly admit. The thought made her smile—grateful, but a little suspicious.

The tour wound down with two final days in Tokyo. The chaos of touring followed them whenever they stepped out of the hotel, but inside, Lia and Noah managed to carve out moments just for the two of them. Most nights, they were too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed. But one morning, while savoring a shower together before meeting everyone downstairs for breakfast, they shared a sweet moment of lovemaking against the shower tiles. Their kisses were soft and unhurried, with Noah’s hands cradling Lia’s face as water droplets slid down their skin. A moment later, he was holding her up, her back pressed against the cold wall, the sudden chill sending a shiver down her spine—just as Noah eased into her, no words or questions needed.

It was slow despite knowing they were on a time crunch to meet the crew downstairs. They orgasmed together, but the focus had been on the shared intimacy—the feeling of each other and the water cascading over their bodies. With Noah panting against her chest, occasionally brushing his lips against her breasts, Lia gently pushed the damp hair from his face and studied him. Water droplets clung to his eyelashes, his lips parted, brown eyes staring at her with a raw intensity, the afterglow of his release written all over his expression. She had never seen a man more beautiful.

On other days, they’d slip away for quiet afternoon dates, strolling hand in hand through charming cafés and narrow alleyways, laughing as they tried to decipher the meaning of Japanese characters displayed above every shopfront.

During the last stop, they explored Tokyo with the rest of the crew. They visited Shibuya Crossing, enjoyed the breathtaking views from Tokyo Skytree, and the vibrant pulse of Harajuku. There was something surreal about the contrast between the high-energy city and the peacefulness of places like Meiji Shrine, where they found rare moments of calm even as a group. It was a balance of excitement and serenity, a much-needed pause before the final show.

As their adventure drew to a close the day after the final concert, the mood shifted to bittersweet. Everyone gathered in the hotel lobby, taxis lined up outside with suitcases already packed into the trunks. As always, there was a deep sense of joy among the crew, but now it was laced with the quiet sadness of saying goodbye to the country that had embraced them so warmly.

Lia and Noah exchanged tight hugs and heartfelt farewells, laughter mingling with promises to reunite again once their extended stay in Japan came to an end.

Lia was laughing at some last-minute comment Folio made when Jolly leaned in toward Noah.

“I can’t wait to see Emery, man.”

Noah smiled and clapped him on the back.

“Not long now.”

“Yeah, not all of us are lucky enough to have our girlfriend right here, working together, and getting to see her—and sleep with her—every night,” Jolly replied, flashing Noah a teasing grin. There was no malice in his comment, just envy of the good-natured kind.

Noah chuckled.

“You’ll catch up soon enough.”

“Emery’s meeting me at the airport in L.A.,” Jolly informed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I'll be staying at hers while you and Gremlin are gone."

“Alright,” Matt cut in, his voice loud enough to grab everyone’s attention. “I guess it’s time for us boring folks to head to the airport, or we’ll miss our flight.” He slung his backpack over his shoulder and turned to Lia and Noah with a sly grin, mischief dancing in his eyes. “You two enjoy your vacation. Heading to one of those deer parks? I hear you might spot some cute little kittens wandering around, you know—wearing collars with bells and all.” He stretched out the word kittens, eyebrows raised suggestively, clearly reveling in the way Lia instantly flushed red.

Lia, who had been fiddling with a black beanie, tossed it at him.

Noah glanced between them, confused.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Lia replied quickly, trying to brush it off with a wave of her hand, her voice a little too light. She shot Matt a sharp look, but he just chuckled, clearly delighted by how flustered she was as he tossed her beanie back.

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” Matt teased, raising his hands in mock surrender as he made his way to the door, still grinning. “Say hi to your Grandma!”

With the moment passed, the group gathered for their final round of goodbyes. There were hugs, more jokes, and promises to stay in touch as the last of the crew headed out to their taxis. Finally, it was just Lia and Noah.

Noah draped an arm over her shoulders.

“Ready to go?”

Lia nodded, her face still slightly warm from Matt’s teasing, but a smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They slipped into their waiting taxi, leaving Tokyo behind as they made their way toward Hana’s house—a quiet village not more than forty minutes away from Tokyo.

The Tokyo skyline faded into the distance as the taxi navigated through the countryside. It was only as she looked through the window, that the anticipation of seeing Grandma after almost two years began to settle in.

As the taxi pulled up to the familiar garden gate about forty five minutes later, Lia’s pulse quickened. The house stood at the end of a short, flower-lined path, and just beyond the gate was the garden she’d been dreaming of. She spotted the little flowers she had planted years ago—small clusters of delicate blooms that had somehow survived, thriving against the odds.

The house looked just as she remembered—quaint, cozy, with its worn wooden beams and the small porch that wrapped around the front. The path was lined with tiny bursts of color, the garden alive with flowers and greenery.

Noah gave her hand a squeeze before letting go and reaching for their heavy suitcases.

They reached the front door, and as it swung open, there stood Hana, her hair now completely white, gathered in a low bun. She looked a little smaller than before, but her warm, familiar smile hadn’t changed at all. In that moment, all the emotions Lia had been holding in came rushing to the surface.

Her luggage slipped from her hands, landing with a thud on the floor. She didn’t even bother to take off her shoes. She rushed forward, crashing into Hana’s open arms, burying her face in the soft fabric of her soft knitted cardigan.

As she sobbed into Grandma’s shoulder, all she could hear were the words,

“My sweet girl, it’s been so long.”

Hi, my lovely readers! V here 🌸 I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As we move forward, I have a question that I've been meaning to ask for weeks now and which I think will also help me engage more with you <3

The following chapters will provide answers to a lot of things that happened in the previous parts (ikigai & koi no yokan). Next chapter specifically, will have grandma showing something to Noah and Lia that she has kept since they were children. I want to see how fresh your memory is (I know I posted Ikigai like a year ago lol)😅 But! Any idea what it could be? 🤭 Leave your thoughts in the comments ✨

Thank you for following this story 💕

— prev. chapter | chapter eleven

🔖 Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @thecoyotescry | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

@chey-h

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tigerf00d · 1 month ago

Text

Words Inside a Shell

Chapter 3: The Tide Always Moves Fast

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Other Characters: Buffy and Willow, Xander (mentioned), minor original characters

Tags: EXPLICIT! Smut ahead! You are responsible for your own consumption of media, but please don't interact if you're under 18. No use of Y/N. Afab but gender-neutral.

Word Count: 4.3k . I don't. I don't know what possessed me.

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Series masterlist

Summary: While trying to get over a crush on a certain crispy-haired vampire, you end up falling right back into his arms

Or, the one where a night out with the girls goes wrong.

A/N: So What if I said I split up the last chapter and the first 1k(ish) of this one so it wasn't a monster chapter. It's not my fault the spirit of the holidays possessed me, and now we have 4k of smut. Happy Holidays, ya filthy animals.

You sighed, turning to Spike and hanging your head slightly.

“Well, that was a bust.”

“Hoping to go home with him, were you?”

You looked up at Spike before answering in a small voice. “Not really.”

Not for the first time tonight, Spike’s gaze was intense. His bright eyes observed you, focusing on your expression as you did the same in turn.

Unlike earlier, him checking you out didn’t feel quite so cold. Where before you felt like you were stalked prey, you now felt relief at the familiarity of him watching over you.

Spike squinted and then nodded towards the toilets, breaking the spell the two of you were under.

“Yeah, you’re a mess, love. Better go get cleaned up.”

“Thanks, Spike.” you said sarcastically but began walking through the throng of other dancers regardless.

You stopped before entering. “Oh, I need to tell Buffy and Willow—”

“Go. I’ll alert the neighbourhood watch.”

“Thanks, Spike.” You answered, this time sincerely, smiling from the doorway as he fake gagged and turned away to tell the girls.

You ran the tap, splashing cool water on your face. Thankfully, even though it was to cut costs, the Bronze had two gender-neutral toilets, both their rooms and only slightly larger than the regular stalls in the women’s and men’s bathrooms.

You grabbed paper towels from above the thick counters— probably only there so that drunk patrons couldn’t rip the sink out of the wall— grimacing at their gritty fibrous surface, muttering “In for a penny, in for a pound…” and then patting against the wetter spots of skin.

Your reflection looked much calmer now, not necessarily neater, but you felt better either way. Two sharp knocks echoed across the small room.

“Um, occupied?”

“‘S me.” Spike said against the door.

You straighten your posture and crack open the door, wincing as it creaks.

“Did you tell them?”

“Yeah, they wanted to come see you but…” He shrugged, petering off.

“Y’know for all that talk of being an evil vampire you sure are helpful.”

“Take that back.” He said, evidently flustered.

“No I don’t think I will. Thanks for helping me with that jerk, by the way.”

“It’s no problem. I can eat him too, if you’d like.”

“I had considered it.”

He smiled at you and for a moment you forgot to breathe, the smile was small but earnest, an expression that he rarely had after years of guarding his intentions.

You unfroze, remembering yourself and smiled back, no doubt he had caught the moment of unintentional hesitation, but if he had he didn’t mention it.

“So, why are you here?”

“Oh, you know, T.V. stations went to sleep, only the shopping channel’s on this time of night. Or my favourite: static.”

“Enlightening. Now, why are you really here?”

He raised a brow at your repeated question, “I was bored. There’s barely anything to do in Sunnydale. Or anyone for that matter.”

You roll your eyes, and the thought, ‘don’t remind me,’ floats behind your eyes, but you don’t get the chance to voice it when Spike continues,

“And it’s a good thing I did too. That guy was too handsy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Yes. How could I ever repay you?”

“I can think of a couple of ways.” the vamp joked. You hummed, agreeing as you quietly made a decision.

You sank to your knees, not breaking eye contact when your knees landed on the cool tile of the stall's floor.

“Oh, no, love. You don't have to do that.”

“What? I can't thank my knight in shining leather?”

“Well, when you put it that way. Far be it from me to refuse your gratitude.” He brushed the hair off of your face, and you grasped the material of his pants near his hips, hands warmed by his duster.

“Unless you don’t want me to.” You clarified.

“I never said that.” He responded quickly.

“So, to be clear, you do want me to suck you off in this bathroom right now?”

He groaned, nodding as he widened his stance for you to better slot against him and said, “Of course I do.”

You leaned against him, your legs straddling one of his own as you rested your head against his groin, tent growing from his clothed member beginning to strain against the fabric, and peered up at him.

“Do you promise?” You asked, teasing him now.

“Yes, love, I promise.”

“It’s good to check.”

“Sure.” He mumbled absent-mindedly while fumbling with his belt buckle.

You took pity on him, nudging his hands out of the way and then undoing the button and zipper of his jeans while you were at it. Hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants and the elastic of his briefs on either side of his hips and you gradually pull them halfway down his thighs, releasing him from the confines of his clothes.

Spike lets out a faint unbidden sigh of relief as his hard cock springs free, so quiet you're not certain he's even aware he made it.

You run your hands back up his thighs, fingertips lingering under his shirt, feeling the Adonis lines for yourself and emitting a soft, excited noise, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as your breath quickens.

He was long, slightly curved, and not skinny. The head was only slightly paler than you had expected, though in consideration of his supernatural nature, it wasn't anything that couldn't be explained.

From Spike's perspective, he watched as you placed a kiss to where his torso met his thigh. Heard your heart beat faster, blood rushing in excitement as you become more aroused. More aroused because you wanted to blow him, even in this dingy stall.

Your warm, soft hand gently gripped the base of him, tilting him slightly to give an open-mouthed kiss to the shaft. Even as you shifted away, he could feel your warm breath against his skin, only making him all the more desperate for you.

Fortunately for Spike, you weren't the most patient either. You briefly removed your hand and spat into your palm, returning it to his dick almost immediately after. You held him more firmly and began to stroke him. Pumping the wetness over him with your fist.

You sat back, letting out an almost silent gasp as you felt the hard material of his boot make contact through your clothes and Spike's lips parted as he fought the urge to buck into your hand at this reaction.

It was then that he felt your warm tongue swipe over the head of his cock, swirling around it a few times to get used to the taste of him. Without realising he had closed his eyes, Spike opened them and looked down to find you looking up at him, bright, eager, eyes shining as you licked up the length of him.

“Is this all you wanted? Someone's cock in your mouth, hm?” His voice cracked as you sucked the tip of him into your mouth and hummed an affirmative to his question before releasing with a salacious ‘pop’.

“Not just anyone.”

“Is that so?”

You hummed around him again, not removing him from your plush lips as you sucked him further into your mouth, already wanting to take more of him in. The vibrations sent a shock wave of pleasure through Spike’s whole body, and he was practically salivating, watching you try to stimulate yourself as a result of his shuddered reaction.

“Go on, pet. Y’ can hump my boot if you'd like.”

You whined around him, body gyrating as you manoeuvred your legs to do so less awkwardly.

What you couldn't reach with your mouth, you continued to stroke with your hands, twisting around him in time with the motions of your tongue.

Spike hadn't expected your eagerness, hand reaching out to comb through the hairs on the side of your head, clutching you tightly. He also didn't expect you to moan because of that, and in a moment of weakness fucked into your mouth a fraction more, the sensation overwhelming him and causing his head to tip back as the vibrations from the moan you released in his hold washed over his senses.

But then you pulled back, tongue flat against the slit as you sucked at the same time as you twisted your fist at the base of him, the side of your palm brushing against surprisingly soft stubble that let you know that he wasn't, in fact, naturally hairless.

He whined at the feeling of it; thick, hot pleasure coiled throughout him, building at the base of his spine. Stopping himself from pushing you any further proved to be a herculean effort, though Spike had never been very good at holding himself back.

You ground your sensitive clit against the leather of his boot rhythmically, sloppier now as you got closer to finishing. Spike was making the most delicious half-rocking aborted motions like he wanted nothing more than to let go but was doing his absolute best to restrain himself for you.

Moments later, he felt your mouth slip off of him, replaced by the mind-numbingly languid strokes of both your hands against him and when he opened his mouth to ask if you needed to stop, his thoughts scattered, words dissipating into nothingness at the feeling of your warm breath against him as you spoke.

“Spike, you don't have to hold back with me.”

He exhaled sharply. Blinking as he fought to form a coherent sentence, Spike's normally quick wit had turned into a blank nothingness for him to draw from.

Finally, he settled on “Are you sure?”

“I've always wanted to try it.” You ran a thumb over the very tip of him, causing him to shudder and blink rapidly as he tried to keep his composure.

“You've never done it, but you…” Spike groaned, grabbing your chin and swiping his own thumb over your slick lips, “Fuck me, pet. It's really what you want.”

“Please, Spike? Use me.”

“How can I deny such pretty words?”

At that, he grasped each side of your head, hair bunching around his fingers as you guided his dick back into your mouth excitedly.

How were you so good at this? You had to have been designed in a lab. You were turning him on so effortlessly. Not the weirdest way he's gotten a lay.

He cursed, abdominal muscles tightening in anticipation as you took him deeper now. Your hands removed from his shaft to hold his hips again for stability.

Slowly, he tested your limits, pushing himself further into you, stalling when you released a happy moan from your full mouth.

“You're really letting me do this?” He asked once more.

You hummed agreeably along Spike’s cock, himself moaning because of it.

Without meaning to, you had stalled your motions, reminded when your neglected clit once again made contact with the material of his shoe, and you whined, bearing down to grind against it and build yourself back up again, nearing your peak much quicker this time.

As though you had switched roles, words came much easier to Spike now.

“Fuck, look at you like that, pet. So eager.”

Your rocking against him, desperate to hit the perfect spot over and over and over again, only served to turn him on more. Your search for friction proved that you were getting turned on by servicing him.

When he rolled his hips forward again, less experimentally than the last time, Spike could feel your throat relaxing. Inviting him in deeper.

A low, enraptured groan escaped Spike as he relinquished control over his other senses, allowing the feeling of you together engulf him.

Your nails dug into the bare flesh of his hips, letting him know he could sink into you further, encouraging him to do so.

Spike hissed in pleasure as he rutted into your mouth.

“You're good like this. Not giving me attitude.”

You glanced up at him as though to say that it was rude to talk with your mouth full, but the effect was lost when he took in the thin mist of sweat settling on your skin and the glassy quality taking over your eyes.

Instead, you suck harshly in retaliation, tightening your throat suddenly to overwhelm him before relaxing again to allow him to continue to fuck into your waiting mouth.

The groan torn out of him borders on feral, hands moving to better push you down onto his cock. Your eyes water, your nose almost brushing the stubble you felt earlier, and Spike holds you there. Holds you so far onto himself you worry you're going to gag any moment as he pants above you. So far that you don't even realise that you’re still grinding slowly against him.

After what feels like forever, he releases you and allows you a moment to breathe before rhythmically pulling you down onto him again.

“‘M close, precious. You?”

You blink, teary-eyed and hum an affirmative.

“So pretty.” He murmurs, and you aren’t entirely certain that it was meant to be out loud.

You hum again, almost non-committally, as you feel the ache in your jaw.

Spike’s thrusting grew sloppy, “Where, love?”

You tapped his thigh with your right hand before gesturing to your mouth.

“Inside?”

“Mhmm.”

He pumped once, twice, three more times, a groaned warning leaving his mouth moments before you felt him spilling into you.

His hips had stalled, so you pulled back, holding only the tip between closed lips and clumsily stroked his cock to prolong his orgasm.

Spike was breathing heavily above you, removing himself from your mouth at the same time as hauling you up.

“Did you…?” His voice peters off as he focuses on fixing his clothes, glancing up in time to catch you shaking your head and massaging your jaw.

“Let’s rectify that immediately.”

He lifts you so suddenly that you don’t have time to disguise your squeak, placing you on the counter. Despite your most recent activities, you feel your face heat in embarrassment at his crooked smirk in response to your surprise.

As Spike begins to kneel, you stop him, opening your mouth to protest.

“Oh, Spike, it’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Part of the fun is the thrill, love. I want to.”

“Are you sure? I’ve never… There’s never been someone who wanted to do this for me.”

Spike scoffs, “Then you’ve been with losers.”

“Oh, and you know better, hm?”

“About this and many other things.” He says, voice low. “I want to give you pleasure.”

Your mouth goes dry, “Ok.”

“Since apparently, you’ve only ever been with idiots…” Spike mutters, definitely intending to keep the thought to himself.

“Ok.” You say louder this time, and he looks at you cheekily.

He pulls you to the edge of the counter first, slotting himself between your legs at the same time as he puts his hands on either side of you on the counter so that he can lean in, kissing you excruciatingly softly. You can’t believe it.

When he pulls back to leave hot, biting kisses at your throat, you can’t help but stare at him wide-eyed, feeling like your brain is leaking out of your ears.

You’re so preoccupied with your thoughts that you don’t even register that he’s stopped kissing marks around your collar and has begun removing your clothes.

Spike leaves your top half and shoes on, opting instead to only remove the clothing barriers necessary. He finally kneels, running his fingers over the line of your cunt through your underwear to feel the wetness.

Though you had agreed for him to pleasure you, you squirm under his touch, fidgeting to stop yourself from closing your thighs. As though sensing this, he uses one hand to push your left leg away, effectively allowing him to pull your underwear to the side and repeat the motion he had earlier.

“Oh fuck.” You gasp, arching into him and then lifting your hips slightly to help him in his quest to free you. You place your clothes beneath you so that your bare skin doesn’t have to come in contact with the freezing countertop.

Spike’s touches grow bolder, fingers moving purposefully against your swollen entrance.

As you watch him, you notice that while his breathing has calmed down, he now looks as though he’s just shy of hyperventilating in excitement. Ever the loverboy.

“Is this from riding my shoe?”

“And you face-fucking me.”

“Ah, yes. We mustn’t forget that…” Spike’s voice made you aware that he probably never would forget it, or at least not for a very long, long time.

Your clit is aching so hard you feel as though your entire body is pulsing in time with it. Honestly, when you had left tonight, you had expected to maybe pick up a guy and kiss for a while to sate the bone-deep desire to be touched before retiring to the safety of your abode, where you could rub yourself to completion while imagining the scenario in front of you.

This was much better.

Spike, oblivious to your musing, has spent this time mapping your body with his hands, with the hand bracing your leg open, his thumb runs distracted, almost soothing circles as he kisses the other thigh. His free hand has made its home underneath what little clothing you still have on, finding your nipple with practised ease as he teases the sensitive skin there.

You shiver under all the attention, spreading your legs wider in encouragement, earlier embarrassment totally forgotten with the notion of Spike touching you properly.

The feeling of his warm breath against your mound is all the warning you get before he finally licks into you, top to bottom, so eagerly that the immediate relief you feel against your neglected flesh is palpable.

Wheezing, you tip your head back much the same as he had earlier, bumping your head on the tiles of the bathroom wall.

“Relax, love. Don’t want to damage that pretty head of yours.”

You whine at the removal of his mouth, wriggling slightly to tell him to get a move on, and he can’t help but huff a laugh.

This isn’t your first time being eaten out, almost surprisingly from the horror stories you’d heard. But this is different. This is Spike; he had maybe a century under his belt at this point, and the experience showed. Where other partners had offered in the past, once they actually got down to it, it was obviously because they felt some sense of duty, as though your pleasure was nothing more than an obligation when it came to having you fulfil their own desires in turn. Their focus shifted as soon as they thought they’d done a sufficient job to whatever they deemed the next step was.

In comparison, Spike seemed to relish at the opportunity, borderline worshipful in his actions. It’s nearly mind-blowing.

As your body goes lax against the countertop, Spike positions your legs up over his shoulders now that you’re making a concentrated effort to remain available to him. No longer holding your thighs agape, his thumb instead refocuses that circular motion against your clit so that while he explores other aspects of your mound, your hips don’t jump, and your aching flesh doesn’t feel neglected.

You try not to thrash under the attention, the action of holding you down alone has your heart squeezing tight in your chest.

Spike continues to lave his tongue against you, tasting. His movements— the softness of his tongue against you— create such delicious friction that you can see your chest moving as you pant, feeling as though your head is spinning.

“Fuck.” You gasp when Spike drags the muscle over your sensitive clit, hips jerking despite your best efforts. “Fuck, please. Please, Spike.”

Spike somehow pays close attention to each of your body’s cues. Every breath, whimper, and sharp intake of air. His movements reveal his desire to find what makes you react the most as he tries to match the motions to your sounds.

Your knees, still over his shoulders, tilt outwards. Conscious to not dig the heel of your shoes into his back, your toes clench uselessly within their confines.

Your breath stutters when he bears down more intensely, seemingly finding a pattern that draws the most satisfactory rhythm out of you, though you’re certainly not complaining.

“I’m close.” You moan, arm thrown over your face to muffle your noises. Even though the Bronze plays it’s music unbearably loud at times, you couldn’t risk people loitering outside the bathroom hearing you, much to Spike’s chagrin.

He sucks your clit into his mouth harshly, and you shudder against his face, vision blanking as you feel your orgasm finally, finally, wash over you. You can’t hold back your whines as the hot static pleasure radiates from the apex of your thighs out through what feels like the fibre of your being, writhing as Spike draws every last drop of pleasure that he can from you until you’re shivering with oversensitive aftershocks.

You have every intention of speaking, but after that, you can barely get words out, let alone calm your racing heart.

“Better?” Spike asks.

“Much,” You manage to respond, voice wavering, and you begin to redress.

As though sent from the Hellmouth herself, three knocks ring from the door, swiftly followed by Willow’s anxious calling of your name. Feeling like you’ve been plunged into cold water, you freeze, wide eyes staring at Spike with urgency as though he could magically grant you the ability to speak.

“Spike? Are you guys still in there?”

Spike groans, hanging his head. Thankfully, you find your voice again in time to interrupt whatever the vamp may have said.

“Yeah, Will, we’re still in here.”

“Oh good, ‘cause you know, Buffy and I were thinking of getting out of here, but we didn’t want to ditch you. Are you feeling better?”

From this side of the door, you could just make out Buffy’s snort and casual “I bet they do.”

“I am, thanks. Um, just give me a second, ok. I’m… I got more upset than I thought I would at that guy. Spike’s been…” You scramble to find an excuse. “Spike’s been telling me embarrassing stories.”

“I have not!” He responds indignantly, then shrinking back under your glare. “They’re not embarrassing anyway.”

“We’ll be out in a second.” You finish.

“Ok. We’ll be at the car.” Buffy says.

You finish redressing and, with Spike’s outstretched hand as guidance, gracefully find your footing on solid ground once more. Assessment of your reflection leaves you reluctantly optimistic that you don’t look like you just experienced a defining sexual encounter for this lifetime, though your lips were swollen and you’d have to cover your neck somehow. You glanced wordlessly at Spike, who was already watching you with an unexpected fondness in his eye.

“Can I wear your duster?”

“What?” Obviously, this was not the question he had expected.

You tilted your neck to more effectively point out the purple lovebites forming, “You freaking lay into me like some sort of— well.” You gesture at him, causing Spike to roll his eyes as he mentally finishes the sentence.

“Fine.” He hands the large leather coat over to you, pulling it back slightly before you grab it to ask, “And how will I be getting this back?”

“You’re coming home with me?”

“Oh, am I now?” He passed the duster to you, watching as you put it on and manoeuvred the collar to better hide the marks on your neck. His already poorly disguised amusement was not helped by the smug grin he wore.

“Obviously.” You paused, walking to the bathroom’s wretched door, “Unless you’re not game.”

“No, I’m game—”

“Good, for a second there, I thought your refractory period might take forever, considering your age.”

Spike guffawed at you. “Yeah, right. I’ll have you know my ‘refractory period’ is perfectly fine, thank you. Perfect even.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Spike’s arm went beside your head as he opened the door for you, allowing you to keep your entirely too pleased smile to yourself as you excited and made your way out of the Bronze, feeling his presence close behind you the entire time.

As promised, Buffy and Willow stood steadfast around the car. Willow was already in her seat picking at something near the window, and Buffy outside of the driver’s side door, scanning the surroundings. Her expression was only slightly too stern, almost reminiscent of a bouncer or security guard off duty, ever the slayer.

You rubbed your eyes and yawned as you got closer, a perfect facsimile of exhaustion.

Which… Though you were tired, your body thrummed with the knowledge that your night was only just beginning.

“Hey guys.” Buffy smiled when she noticed your arrival, opening the door to let herself in.

“Hey Buff.”

Willow looked up from her seat in the Jeep, and you watched in real time as you noticed what you were wearing and tilted her head in silent question.

To answer, you hooked your hands under the flaps of the duster slightly, twirling as you walked so that the leather flared out around you.

“Pretty cool, right? I can see why he wears it. I feel like Dracula.” You paused, “Or maybe a leather princess.”

Buffy snorted, no doubt seeing the exasperated face Spike was making in reaction to your words.

“Hey, speaking of Dracula,” You leant against the open window into the car, “could we drop Spike off? I don’t wanna forget to give him the coat back and have to walk into the crypt at night.”

“Sure, that’s fine.” Buffy said, Willow nodding beside her, quiet now as the night caught up.

You whirled around to face Spike, recovering quickly as you startled at how close he was and gave him an exaggerated thumbs up before making your way to ‘your’ seat.

“Where to, Spike?” Buffy was watching him carefully through the rearview mirror. For his part, Spike was already looking out the window, watching the gradually moving night scenery through windows that weren’t blacked out for once.

“Oh, just their place is fine. I can walk back after there.”

Amusement coloured Buffy’s voice, “If you say so.”

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #Spike x reader #spike x you #spike btvs x reader #spike btvs x you #smut fic

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